


where the leaves fall not

by dudewhereismypie, obsessivereader



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Avengers, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Supernatural Elements, apologies to tolkien and irish/norse mythology for liberties taken, elf bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewhereismypie/pseuds/dudewhereismypie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: “Sir.” At the uncharacteristic interruption from JARVIS, everyone falls silent. “There is an unauthorized person in the back left-hand corner of the room.”Steve turns around, already knowing who he’ll see as everyone scrambles to their feet. Sure enough, it’s Bucky, curled up in an armchair, loose-limbed and relaxed as a cat. Long brown hair cascades around his shoulders and the tips of his ears are exactly as pointed as Steve remembers.Nat whips a gun out from somewhere and points it at him. Tony has a repulsor on his hand. Wanda’s hands are up and surrounded by a red glow. Only Thor seems unworried—resuming his seat after an initial moment of battle-readiness.“Bucky,” Steve says.Bucky glances around with bright, inquisitive eyes. The corners of his lips tip up in a smile, as though amused by the chaos his appearance caused. “We meet again, Captain.”Tony’s eyebrows are parked halfway up his forehead as he studies Bucky. “I see what you mean byLord of the Rings, Cap.” Then, aggrieved, “JARVIS, how did he get in?”In which Captain America meets a flirtatious elf...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To Vittoria, who drew all the incredible art in this fic and was a wonderful collab partner <3 Your art of elf prince Bucky was truly an inspiration. You asked for something cheesy and sweet, I hope this hits the spot!  
> To Val, thank you for betaing this and making this fic better <3 I always learn so much from you.  
> Thank you to the amazing mods of the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. I know I’m in safe hands in this Bang.  
> Final thanks to all the people who’ve listened to me whine.

Steve pushes open the reinforced steel door and limps into the vault. The table in the center of the small, bare room is empty. He swallows a sigh. Too late again. The artifact Hydra’s using to create enhanced soldiers is nowhere to be found. Three bases raided, three times they were too late. In the meantime, Hydra continues to churn out soldiers that are almost strong enough to take him.

“It’s gone,” he says into his comms. There’s no response. Everyone’s busy corralling the last few pockets of enhanced soldiers.

He keeps an eye on the vault door while he checks out the table. Maybe this time someone was careless enough to leave a clue behind. After hunting for weeks, all they know about the artifact is that it exists, and that it’s small enough to fit into a case that’s two feet long by one foot high.

The table is a plain wooden one, about three feet square. He’s pretty sure he can pick out the exact model in an IKEA catalog. At the corner… is that a drop of dried blood? It’s about the right color, dark from oxidation, but he’s seen enough blood to know something about the texture is off. Too viscous. He doesn’t touch it—Tony will kill him if he gets his cooties all over it before it can be scanned.

“In case you’re wondering,” a warm, silky voice says, right next to his ear, “that’s not blood.”

Steve leaps straight up into the air, and comes down swinging. He gets a brief impression of long, brown hair as the man sidesteps the blow with a casual nonchalance. The edge of the shield passes close enough that the man’s hair stirs in the wind of its passage.

“Who are you,” Steve snaps. “How did you get in here.” The vault was _empty._ It’s a windowless room no more than a hundred square feet in size. There’s no way in or out except for the door. The door that Steve’s facing.

He backs up to give himself more room as he studies the… elf _._ Because really, that’s what he looks like—an escapee from a _Lord of the Rings_ film set, from the tips of his pointy ears down to his leather knee-high boots. He looks somewhere in his mid-twenties, but something about the way he holds himself has Steve revising his estimate up by a decade.

His deep green tunic and pants stand out against the utilitarian gray of the room, announcing his presence, not camouflaging it. They’re made of a light fabric and cut to allow freedom of movement. A bo staff is strapped to the elf’s back. He wears a diamond-shaped gemstone on a chain around his neck. The emerald green gem is nestled in a gold filigree cage.

The elf is too calm and amused for someone who’d been an inch away from having his head bashed in. His ease around physical violence raises Steve’s wariness by a factor of ten. He knows about cosplayers, but he also knows about the dark elf that destroyed parts of London. Since cosplayers don’t tend to materialize out of thin air, he’s left with the very unwelcome alternative.

 _“Cap?”_ Clint whispers over the comms. _“ETA five minutes.”_

The elf smiles, easy and open, and something lurches inside Steve. He’s _beautiful_. His wide gray eyes and high cheekbones wouldn’t look out of place in a classic Hollywood movie.

“My name is Buchanan,” the elf says, in an oddly inflected accent. It isn’t American, and it’s not quite British. It’s almost… lilting. It reminds Steve of his mother’s accent, the one that came out sometimes when she was very tired. Buchanan places a hand over the pendant and sweeps Steve a courtly bow. “But _you_ can call me Bucky. As to how I got in, why… I walked in, of course.”

“There’s only one door,” Steve says, ignoring the wicked gleam in Bucky’s eyes. “And I know you didn’t come in from there. I’ll ask again, _how did you get in here._ ”

Bucky gives a long-suffering sigh that seems dragged from the depths of his leather boots. _“Walked,_ ” he says again. “One foot in front of the other.” He takes a step forward, and another, and another. Steve backs up as he approaches, not trusting the flamboyant creature one bit. “Like this.” Bucky shifts to the side—and disappears.

“Fuck!”

“Hello again.”

Steve spins around to find Bucky standing by the vault door, studying the table. No, not the table. The drop of dried… something.

“You seek it too,” Bucky says. When Steve tenses, Bucky nods with satisfaction. “You do.”

Steve sets his jaw and readies for a fight.

“It seems like we’ll be meeting again. I do look forward to that.” Bucky cocks his head to the side like he’s listening to something. “I should probably leave before your friend arrives. Goodbye for now, Captain.” With a jaunty wave, Bucky takes half a step to the side and disappears.

Steve glares at the spot where a six-foot tall elf had stood a moment ago. That was a _very_ irritating habit. “He’s gone,” he says into his comm.

“ _Aw no,”_ Clint says plaintively. _“I ran all the way!”_

 

*

 

Tony leans back in his chair and tosses a stress ball straight up into the air—throw, catch, throw, catch—in a maddening rhythm. “So JARVIS, what can you tell us about the goop.” The whole team is in the meeting room, everyone cleaned up, wounds attended to.

“I scanned the substance that Captain Rogers found in the vault and I’m 98.4% certain that it originated from a life form.”

“What happened to the 1.6%?” Tony asks.

“If I may finish, Sir.”

Tony rolls his eyes but makes a waving motion with his hand.

“The sample does not contain the nucleic acids that are the building blocks of Terran life, but it does have the molecular complexity that is a _hallmark_ of life.”

_Goddamit. Aliens._

_“Now_ can we talk about the 1.6%?” Tony asks.

“There are particulates suspended in the sample that are too complex for my sensors to scan properly.”

“That’s not good,” Tony says. “JARVIS has the most advanced scanners in the world. I know, I—”

“Built them,” Bruce says. “Yes, we know, Tony. What else can you tell us, JARVIS?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I have for the moment, Dr. Banner. I will continue to study the sample and will notify Sir as soon as I learn anything new.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve says. “Anyone have anything to add?”

The silence in the room is broken by the soft rasp of Thor scratching his beard as he stares at the ceiling. “I have come across it before.” He frowns. “I must return to Asgard to speak to my mother. If anyone will know, ‘tis her.”

“They knew we were coming,” Nat says. “No one got in or out of the facility, but somehow, they got the— _thing_ —out.”

Her voice is cold and hard, her expression flat. She hates failure. They all do. Steve can see it in the flippancy of Tony’s exchange with JARVIS, the downward curve of Sam’s mouth, the angle of Wanda’s head. He can feel it in the tightness across his shoulders.

“However they’re doing it,” Nat continues, “it’s not by mundane means.”

“Great,” Tony mutters, as everyone looks at Steve. _“Magic.”_

Steve straightens in his seat, wishing he had more useful intel on the man in the vault. He doesn’t think telling them laughing eyes haunted him all throughout his shower is going to be particularly helpful. “You’re suggesting Bucky had something to do with it?”

Nat exchanges a look with Clint, while Tony appears more interested in seeing how high he can get the ball to go.

“It’s possible,” Steve concedes. “Given what he can do.”

“You don’t think so, though,” Nat says.

“Just a gut feeling—”

“Sir.” At the uncharacteristic interruption from JARVIS, everyone falls silent. “There is an unauthorized person in the back left-hand corner of the room.”

Steve turns around, already knowing who he’ll see as everyone scrambles to their feet. Sure enough, it’s Bucky, curled up in an armchair, loose-limbed and relaxed as a cat. Long brown hair cascades around his shoulders and the tips of his ears are exactly as pointed as Steve remembers.

Nat whips a gun out from somewhere and points it at him. Tony has a repulsor on his hand. Bruce backs out of the room, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Wanda’s hands are up and surrounded by a red glow. Sam looks between Bucky and Steve, waiting for a cue. Only Thor seems unworried—resuming his seat after an initial moment of battle-readiness.

“Bucky,” Steve says.

Bucky glances around with bright, inquisitive eyes. The corners of his lips tip up in a smile, as though amused by the chaos his appearance caused. “We meet again, Captain.”

Tony’s eyebrows are parked halfway up his forehead as he studies Bucky. “I see what you mean by _Lord of the Rings_ , Cap.” Then, aggrieved, “JARVIS, how did he get in?”

“He appeared on my sensors without any warning, Sir.”

“That’s not _possible_.”

“My sensors are in perfect working order, I assure you, Sir. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

“Did you just quote Sherlock at me?” Tony hisses.

Bucky ignores everything going on around them and keeps his gaze locked on Steve, still with a smile flirting at the corners of his lips. The deep green of his tunic sets his light eyes to glowing.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Sam says. He punches Steve in the arm.

With a guilty start, Steve says, “What do you want?”

Bucky unfolds from the chair in one smooth, sinuous motion. “The same thing you do, Captain.”

Steve feels an unaccountable heat in his cheeks at the teasing note in Bucky’s voice. He clears his throat and avoids making eye contact with the others. “And what would that be.”

Bucky straightens his shoulders and looks Steve squarely in the eye. He doesn’t look young now so much as ageless. “Something sacred to my people. It was stolen from us some months ago. We know someone here in your world is using it, and we believe one of our own is helping them.”

“How do we know we can trust you.”

“He can vouch for me.” Bucky bows to Thor. “Your Highness.” Thor’s just opened his mouth to respond when Bucky says,“I greet you as the humble emissary of my Queen, here to provide assistance in the capture of the oathbreaker, and ensure the safe return of that which was stolen.”

Thor nods, a furtive glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Greetings, _humble emissary_ of the Elf Queen of Oileáin Thuaidh,” he says, mimicking Bucky’s odd emphasis on the title.

From the look on Nat’s face, Steve’s not the only one who notices it. “What aren’t you telling us,” he says, addressing the two offworlders.

“Ah,” Bucky says, looking a little shamefaced. “Thor probably recalls the not altogether dignified circumstances of our last meeting.” He exchanges a glance with Thor. “It really doesn’t bear repeating. Suffice it to say that he’s probably surprised the Queen trusts me enough to appoint me as her emissary.”

Thor smiles down at his hands. He does seem pretty amused by something, Steve concedes. He’s glad his gut feeling about Bucky wasn’t wrong. “Let’s hear what you have to say,” he says.

Bucky curls back up in the armchair. One by one, everyone sits back down, and weapons are hidden away.

“Okay, elf-boy,” Tony says. “Before we talk assistance and interdimensional extradition, how about you tell us how you got into my building.”

“You should tell him, Buchanan.” Thor gives Tony an indulgent look. “He won’t know any peace otherwise.”

“He won’t know peace even _if_ I tell him.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Tony interjects.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

There’s a glint in Bucky’s eyes, an invitation to mischief that has Steve’s fingers itching for a pencil. It’s not as though there isn’t already a hasty drawing of Bucky in his sketchbook, one which, for some reason, he’d elected not to share with the team.

 _“Yes,”_ Tony says.

“I slip into the in-between.” Bucky shrugs. “That’s where my world exists, in the interstices between yours.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not sense as you understand it. So let’s call it”—Bucky gestures grandly—“ _magic.”_

Steve bites back his smile at the scandalized expression on Tony’s face and steps in before Tony can work up a good head of steam about the whole magic thing. “That’s why we’re always too late,” he says. “This oathbreaker of yours is teleporting away with the item as soon as we show up.”

“Really, Cap?” Tony says. “‘Teleporting?’”

Steve widens his eyes. “Can you think of a better word?”

“Bruce should be here, goddamit.” Tony subsides back into his seat. “I shouldn’t have to put up with this on my own.”

“Okay.” Steve leans forward in his seat. “Can we get back to the issue at hand.”

“And which one would that be, Captain?”

“Actually,” Steve says, “how do you know who I am?”

“Did you think I sought you out by accident?” Bucky gives him a reproachful look. “My Queen’s advisers identified the Avengers as the ones most likely to succeed in locating the oathbreaker.” He nods to all the Avengers seated around the table, one warrior acknowledging another.

Great. Yet another alien race keeping tabs on Earth. “How about you tell us about this sacred item, and then we can discuss how we can work together.”

Bucky glances at Thor.

“I vouch for them,” Thor says.

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the central air-conditioning, and the soft, rhythmic thump of Tony catching the stress ball.

“There is a tree,” Bucky says, “that grows over the burial place of the Morrigan; three sisters who lived as one, ruled as one, and died as one. Each of them was a powerful mage in her own right, but together, the triumvirate was greater than the sum of its parts. It is said that their hearts were the seed, and their blood, its sap.”

Steve remembers that name from a time when his mother would tell him stories of her homeland while he lay sick in bed. Goddess of war, chaos, death. Was it coincidence that the Morrigan that was the genesis of the tree was also a triumvirate like the Morrigan from his mother’s stories?

“We call it the Heart of the Morrigan, and honor it in memory of them. The oathbreaker cut a branch from the Heart,” Bucky says, “and brought it here. We believe they are using it to gain power in your world.”

“He desecrated the Heart of the Morrigan?” Thor frowns, horror and disgust evident on his face.

Bucky’s gaze sharpens. “‘He’?”

“So we gather from the soldiers we captured,” Thor says. “Tall. Dark brown hair. That’s all we know.”

Bucky nods, his mouth set in a grim line.

“He brought it to Hydra,” Steve says. “To a man named Wolfgang von Strucker. He heads up their science section.” Science being a euphemism for human experimentation, a phrase he would rather not use in front of Wanda. “They must be using it to give their soldiers superhuman strength.”

“It’s as we feared,” Bucky says.

“What can you tell us about the oathbreaker?” Nat asks.

“We know he seeks power, and that he’s one of a limited number of elves allowed to travel to other worlds. My people will work on identifying him while I hunt him here. As soon as I know more, I will share that knowledge with you.”

Wanda leans forward in her seat. “Emissary Buchanan, how is the Heart of the Morrigan able to grant superpowers?” Her face troubled, like she’s recalling her time being experimented on.

“We have some suspicions how the branch is being used, but I’ll need to see the enhanced soldiers to understand more.”

“The next time we locate a base,” Steve says, “you can come with us.”

“I will enjoy that.”

“Okay, but how the hell do we stop the elf from teleporting away?” Sam asks.

“This is a keystone.” Bucky taps the green gemstone hanging from a chain around his neck. “Access to the in-between is protected by powerful spells. Without one of these, we cannot”—he slants a glance at Tony—“teleport.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“For the next month, our mages have closed the way between our worlds to all but a few travelers on the Queen’s business. The oathbreaker can no longer use the in-between to move from place to place.”

“So no more escaping whenever we show up,” Nat says, with vicious satisfaction. “Doesn’t matter whether the elf’s on Earth or not, von Strucker’s stuck.”

Bucky grins, a sharp, feral thing that makes the blood course faster through Steve’s veins. All around the room, answering grins break out on everyone’s face.

“We can work with that,” Steve says.

“Wonderful!” Bucky claps his hands together and gives Steve an expectant smile. “Might I trouble you for a place to stay for the coming weeks?”

“That would be my department,” Tony says. “I own the building, after all. Why don’t we discuss terms? I’d be willing to rent you a whole floor if you tell me more about this in-between.”

Bucky laughs and stands up. “I do love a good bargain.”

Tony leads Bucky away, the sound of their voices fading as they go out the door. Before Steve can follow, Nat places a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not what he appears,” she says.

“I’m listening.”

Clint and Sam, the only other people left in the room, move closer to listen.

“You said he moves like a fighter,” Nat says.

Steve nods, remembering the way Bucky had slid out of the way of his shield.

“He calls himself an emissary, moves like a fighter.” Nat raises her eyebrows and gives him an expectant look.

“Sounds familiar,” Sam says, nudging Nat.

“I’ve never called myself an emissary, Sam. But I could if I wanted to.”

“So,” Steve says, “you’re saying, that Bucky’s…?”

“Probably an assassin,” Nat says.

“And a spy,” Clint adds.

Which confirms Steve’s own suspicions that Bucky’s no mere diplomat. If anyone would be able to tell, it’d be Nat and Clint. “Do you trust him?” he asks, including Sam in the question. He trusts Sam’s instincts as much as he trusts Nat’s almost preternatural skill at reading people.

“I got a good feeling about him,” Sam says.

Nat and Clint exchange a look. “We trust him,” Nat says. “But be careful, just in case.”

*

One nice thing about staying in the Tower is the 24-hour kitchen. Even though the sun’s barely up, Steve can get a world-class breakfast at the cafe reserved for the Avengers. Had anyone explained to Bucky how to go about getting breakfast in the Tower? Sure JARVIS can answer all his questions, but the neighborly thing to do would be to show him the ropes. Sarah Rogers raised him right, he’s not about to let her down now.

He rinses off his toothbrush and drops it back into the cup by the sink. “JARVIS, where’s Bucky?”

“Still in his room, Captain Rogers.”

This early in the morning, where else would Bucky be. Not everyone wakes as early as him. He could always go for a run while he waits for Bucky to wake up. It might help burn off the strange agitation he woke up with, something left over from the tantalizing cobweb trail of dreams still clouding his mind. His stomach chooses that moment to growl. Problem solved—breakfast first.

“If he comes out while I’m still at breakfast, can you please invite him to join me?”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers.”

Halfway through his third poached egg, Bucky walks in wearing a Stark Industries T-shirt and navy blue sweatpants that hug the long, muscled length of his legs. His feet are bare—long and bony and looking vulnerable against the black marble of the floor. He wears the clothes with the same ease as he did his elvish clothes and wouldn’t look out of place slinking down a catwalk for an athleisure fashion line. Steve’s survived enough Fashion Weeks in New York to know.

“Captain!” Bucky’s smile is wide and pleased.

Steve waves him over to his table for two by the window. “You’re up early.”

“Elves don’t need much sleep.” Bucky eyes Steve’s plate of poached egg, bacon, and toast. “Don’t humans believe in sweet things for breakfast?”

“I’m sure Chef Anne and her team can whip up something sweet for you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen at the suggestion. “What do you recommend?”

Ten minutes later, Bucky contemplates the spread before him: a stack of pancakes with a large dollop of creamy yellow butter melting on top, a small jug of maple syrup, and eight little pots of jam. With a happy sigh, he tucks his hair behind his ears and scoops up a dollop of jam with his finger. He sucks it off with a contemplative look on his face.

By the third pot of jam, Steve’s restlessness has gotten worse, like static buzzing under his skin. He leans back in his seat, takes a few deep breaths, relaxes his shoulders, and thinks about increasing his daily workout. When Bucky reaches for the maple syrup, Steve tenses up all over again.

Bucky sucks the thick sticky liquid off his finger and makes a low sound, almost like a purr. “Oh,” he breathes. “This is the one.”

Steve forces his shoulders back down again and revises upwards his initial estimate of the extra exercise he needs.

“Truly a gift from the gods,” Bucky says, as he empties the entire jug of maple syrup over his pancakes. When he shakes off the last drop hanging stubbornly on the spout, he stares into the now empty pot with such a forlorn expression that Steve would swear he can feel his heart melting in his chest.

“Here you go, sir.” Sally, one of the waitstaff, places a fresh pot of maple syrup in front of Bucky. From the way her lips are compressed, she’s not immune to that look either. Bucky’s expression turns to one of delight as he smiles up at her like she’d personally delivered him a piece of heaven.

“Thank you,” Bucky says. Sally flushes a bright, pretty red, stammers out something unintelligible, and rushes back to the kitchen.

“So how did you land this job,” Steve says, as Bucky pours more syrup over his pancakes.

“Shh. Eat first, talk later.”

Steve snorts. “Okay, Buck. Don’t let me get between you and your sugar.”

Bucky pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, thick, heavy drops of dark gold syrup dripping down onto his plate. “Do you really think you could get between me and this—this sunlight made edible?” He makes a rude sound. “I would demolish you, Captain.” Smiling lips close over the tines of the fork. Without taking his eyes off Steve, Bucky pulls out the fork in one smooth motion.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “You can certainly try.”

“Captain, I hope you’re as good as they say you are, because it’s been a long time since I fought an equal.”

Anticipation fizzes in Steve’s blood. He leans forward. “I’m better.”

“I look forward to putting that to the test,” Bucky says. He scoops up another piece of syrup-soaked pancake.

Steve thinks about introducing Bucky to the astounding variety of food New York has to offer. Especially the desserts. Pancakes and waffles and gelato. Baklava. Dragon beard candy. Milkshakes.

At a burst of laughter from Sally and another of the waitstaff, the world rudely reasserts itself. Steve straightens and looks down at his plate. He’s surprised to see there’s still a half-eaten slice of bacon there. He shoves the bacon into his mouth so he has an excuse not to say anything while he gathers his scattered thoughts.

“You never did say how you got the job to come here.”

“My Queen commands and I obey.”

“Bucky.”

“I’m good at what I do, and… she knows I’ve always wanted to come here.” His hand goes to the keystone resting on his chest. “My father used to tell me stories of Earth.” His face is almost wistful when he looks out the window. “I wish I could have more time here. But once my mission is complete, I’ll probably be sent somewhere else.”

So much for showing Bucky more of New York, Steve thinks, and quashes the little flare of disappointment. He points at the keystone. “Did your father give you that?”

Bucky looks down at the stone. “He said his adventuring days are behind him. So he gave it to me.” Bucky’s lips quirk into a gentle smile full of warmth as his thumb traces the gold wires wrapped around the green gem.

Steve almost envies Bucky. He barely has any memories of his own father beyond a faded photo on the mantelpiece—an unsmiling face and an ill-fitting suit. His mother looked so sad whenever Steve asked about him. After a while, Steve stopped asking.

“What does your father do now that he’s no longer traveling?”

“A scholar, mostly. He oversees all us travelers.”

“That’s convenient.” Steve quirks an eyebrow at Bucky as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“So you would think. But I swear he made it twice as hard for me to get this”—Bucky waggles the keystone at Steve—“since he still thinks of me as a child.”

“What about your mother?”

“Mother… well, she’s in politics.”

There’s a note of finality in Bucky’s voice that tells Steve he won’t say more on the subject. Steve’s curiosity is fired, but he decides not to push. “And what about you? What is it exactly that _you_ do?”

Bucky considers him over the rim of his glass. “A soldier for the most part.”

“How does a soldier end up as an emissary of the Queen?”

“My unit is… let us say we report directly to her.”

Which pretty much confirms that Bucky’s probably a trained assassin, a spy, or some combination of both. “I see,” Steve says.

“Yes.” Bucky takes a sip of his milk. “I think you do.” He licks off the pale pink milk mustache left behind, and smiles. Turning to look out the window, Bucky watches the sun rise over the New York skyline with a look of soft wonder on his face.

*

They’re three days into Bucky’s stay at the Tower, and still no hits on a Hydra base. To stop them all from going stir-crazy and destroying the training room, Nat declares a movie night.

Steve arrives at the entertainment room at 8:45 pm sharp to find everyone already there except for Bruce, who’s begged off, and Bucky. After considering the assortment of snacks laid out on the refreshment table, Steve grabs the bowl of salted caramel popcorn instead of his usual buttered one. Dropping into the last remaining loveseat, he pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth and winces at the sweetness.

“What are we watching?” he says to the room in general while keeping an eye out for Bucky.

“The Hobbit,” Nat says.

“Am I late?” Bucky sweeps in wearing a floor-length scarlet robe with fur-lined collar and cuffs.

Steve chokes on his popcorn.

Bucky’s robe flares out behind him as he walks, like a trenchcoat in the John Woo movies Clint and Wanda love. Under the robe is a flowing, pearl-gray tunic with a lace-up front and matching pants. One side of Bucky’s hair is pulled back in a loose two-stranded braid, revealing the delicate point of his ear and the elegant angle of his jaw. A few artful strands frame his face.

Steve thumps his chest a few times to dislodge the bits of popcorn he sucked down his windpipe. When he catches his breath, he almost wants to stand up to applaud. It was a truly impressive dramatic entrance—perfect timing, flawless execution.

“What,” Tony says, “the hell are you wearing.”

Bucky glances down at himself and back at Tony. “They’re… pajamas?”

“No,” Tony says, over Sam’s laughter. “They are not. They are most definitely _not_ pajamas.”

Even Nat looks bemused. “You’ve been walking around in regular clothes for days now. What brought this on?”

The smile Bucky’s been holding back breaks through. Steve thumps his chest again. “Since we are watching a show about elves,” Bucky says, “I thought I should dress the part.”

“Where the hell did you get those clothes?” Tony demands.

Wanda eyes the robe with interest. “I like it.”

Bucky bows to Wanda with a flourish. He swings the robe this way and that to show off the rich fabric. “I’m sure I can find one in your size,” Bucky says.

Wanda looks very intrigued by the prospect. Steve can already picture her swanning about the Tower with Bucky in matching scarlet robes. It brings a smile to his face.

“Someone needs to explain where he got those clothes,” Tony says. “JARVIS?”

“Emissary Buchanan partially disappeared off my sensors for a period of ten minutes at 8:30 pm. My apologies, Emissary. I am not monitoring you, but my sensors are programmed to detect anomalies.”

“No apology necessary, JARVIS,” Bucky says. “Security is important.”

“‘Partially’.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “How does one disappear _partially_.”

“I didn’t go all the way to my world. I have my things with me, halfway in the in-between.”

“Like a little pocket dimension where you can store things?” Tony’s eyes widen with interest. “So you just reach an arm in and—”

“And now,” Thor says to Bucky, “ _you_ will be the one who will know no peace, my young elf friend. Tony will hound you until you cough up the secret of your pocket dimension.”

“—pull out whatever you need?”

Bucky looks chagrined as Tony leans towards him with avid eyes. Then he smiles. “I’m afraid,” he says solicitously, “it’s against the laws of my people to trigger a technological leap on any world we visit.”

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Tony seems to grow two inches out of sheer outrage. “The fucking _Prime Directive?_ ”

“It’s a very responsible approach, Tony,” Thor says. “Even your Gene Roddenberry could see that.”

Tony glares at Thor. “Et tu, Brute?”

While Thor continues to tease Tony, Bucky scans the room. His face lights up when he spots Steve and the empty seat next to him. He saunters over, takes off the cape and drapes it over the back of the seat. “Prime Directive?” he says, as he sits down.

“It’s a television thing.” Steve shrugs, trying to sound casual. “A show called _Star Trek._ Set in the future, where humans have achieved space flight and go around visiting other worlds, some less advanced. The Prime Directive is basically what you were saying about not triggering a technological leap.”

There’s a burst of applause from Nat, Clint, and Wanda, which he acknowledges with a mock salute. “Private joke,” he says in response to Bucky’s curious look. “Ignore them.”

JARVIS dims the lights and everyone settles down as the opening credits roll across the screen. Bucky shifts closer, close enough their shoulders almost touch. When a warm hand brushes against Steve’s thigh, he nearly flings the bowl of popcorn into the air in surprise. Only Bucky’s hand fumbling its way into the bowl prevents disaster. Eyes still focused on the screen, Bucky stuffs a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. His entire body freezes, eyes going wide. A warm little glow lights up in Steve’s chest—he’d made the right choice.

 _“What is this?”_ Bucky whispers.

“Popcorn.”

“No, what _flavor.”_

“Salted caramel.”

“Salted caramel,” Bucky whispers, soft and awed like a man receiving an epiphany. He pops in a few more pieces, his eyes slipping closed as he chews.

Steve’s stomach swoops inside him, like he’s going down the first drop on the Cyclone, like he’s stepping out of a plane in mid-air. When Bucky’s eyelids drift up, Steve forces his attention back on the movie.

The only thing that distracts Bucky from working his way through the popcorn is Thranduil appearing in the dwarf king’s throne room in shimmering silver robes. Bucky points at the screen and murmurs in Steve’s ear, “I’d wear that if it was red. Silver makes me look like death warmed over.”

Goosebumps chase over Steve’s skin at the feeling of warm air brushing over his ear. The scent of Bucky’s hair wraps around him, a warm, sweet scent with hints of something almost like magnolia. “Even the crown?” Steve manages.

Bucky squints at the screen. “I think it would suit me.” He slants Steve a smiling glance. “Don’t you agree?”

Steve has to concede that he does.

When the dwarves are served nothing but salad by Elrond’s elves, Bucky whispers, “You think this body comes from only eating leaves?”

Like iron filings drawn to a magnet, Steve’s gaze travels the coiled length of Bucky’s body, taking in the lean graceful lines of him, from broad shoulders all the way down to his bare feet. The ends of Bucky’s hair trail into the bowl of popcorn he’s hugging to his chest. Steve almost reaches out to tuck it back behind one pointed ear.

Bucky cackles when the dwarves get into a food fight while the very proper and refined elves watch, looking distressed to the point of pain. Steve leans close. “You’re not much like those elves, are you.”

Bucky turns laughing eyes on Steve. “What makes you say that?”

Steve plucks a few stray pieces of popcorn from the cuff of Bucky’s sleeve, and combs some crumbs from Bucky’s hair. He drops them into Bucky’s hand while Bucky watches him with a soft look in his eyes and a half-smile curving his lips. “Just a hunch,” Steve says, feeling breathless again for no reason at all.

They watch the rest of the movie in silence. Bucky leans against him, warm and pliant. Steve watches the play of light and shadow over Bucky’s face, trying to understand what in the particular arrangement of features that make up Bucky’s face captivates him so.

It’s not an unfamiliar occurrence, this fascination of his. He accepts it as one of the occupational hazards of being an artist—every now and then he meets someone who fires his imagination. Man or woman, attractive or not, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the soul that looks out from behind their eyes. After a week or two of furious sketching, the fascination passes. In the past, he’d been obscurely ashamed when an attractive man caught his attention, knowing how easily that could have been misinterpreted. He’s glad the future is a lot more accepting, and that the few women he’d dated didn’t seem to mind when they found his sketches.

What’s less familiar is his intense curiosity about Bucky. But then again, he’s never met an elf before—surely it’s natural to want to spend more time with him.

Maybe he’s staring a little too hard, because Bucky catches him at it. “What?” Bucky whispers. Steve shakes his head and pretends an interest in the giant eagles carrying everyone to safety.

The closing credits have barely started scrolling across the screen when Nat stands up. “It’s late, I think I’ll turn in.” She kicks Clint in the shin.

Clint pops out of his seat like a prairie dog emerging from its burrow. “Me too.”

With a loud rustle, Wanda scrambles up from the bean bag in a whirlwind of flailing limbs. “I’m also very tired.”

There’s a sudden chorus of _good nights,_ over which can be heard Tony’s plaintive, “Aw Pep.” In under two minutes, everyone is gone.

“I suppose clean-up falls to us,” Bucky says wryly. He sits up and combs his fingers through his mussed hair.

Steve blinks at the empty room. “I suppose so.”

Which isn’t exactly true since the Tower staff will see to it in the morning. But Steve’s not comfortable with having people clean up after him, and this way, he can have Bucky for a little longer. They gather up the empty bowls and cans and bring everything to the kitchenette at the back of the room. Steve spots another can under Clint’s seat. He’s on the way to the loveseat when Bucky gasps from somewhere behind him. Steve spins around, hand automatically reaching for a shield that isn’t. His mind shuffles through multiple alternatives to deal with Hydra soldiers stepping out of thin air—

“More popcorn!” Bucky holds up a bowl in triumph.

_“Bucky.”_

“What?” He stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth, eyes wide.

Steve wills his heart rate to slow down. “Never mind.” He can’t hold on to his ire when Bucky looks like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

Once things are squared away, they get into the elevator and head up to their rooms. Bucky’s long, dexterous fingers comb through the fur trim of the cape draped over his arm in a slow, hypnotic motion. A nudge snaps Steve’s gaze up to Bucky’s face.

“Breakfast tomorrow?”

A little pop of warmth at Bucky’s easy familiarity makes Steve duck his head and smile. “Yeah. Can’t wait to see what the chefs whip up for you this time.” They haven’t had this much fun since Steve moved into the Tower and they’d taken it upon themselves to introduce him to the culinary wonders of the present day.

“They perform miracles,” Bucky agrees. The bell dings and the door opens. “Till the morning, Captain.” Bucky steps out and the door closes on his parting wave.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m almost at the vault,” Steve whispers. He presses his back to the wall of the corridor and peeks around the corner. Past the L-bend, the corridor continues for another fifty feet before terminating in the vault door. “Same steel door as the other bases. Three soldiers guarding it.”

“I’m nearly there,” Bucky says, over the comms. “It’s best if no one else handles the branch but me.” A minute later, Bucky jogs down the corridor with his staff in his hand, soundless in leather-shod feet. He’s wearing a black version of his usual tunic and pants, with silver vambraces strapped to his forearms. A silver clasp secures his hair off his face. “What’s the plan?” he whispers, when he settles in next to Steve.

“You go left, I go right?” 

“Simple is best,” Bucky says with a smirk. “Whoever finishes first takes the one in the middle?”

“Works for me. Let’s go in fast.”

They charge round the corner towards the startled soldiers. When the first soldier pulls his gun, Steve throws the shield at him. It hits the soldier dead center and sends him flying backwards into the vault door with a thud. The gun drops to the floor and skids away. Steve catches the shield on the rebound and slams into the second soldier as bullets ricochet off it. With the soldier off balance, Steve uses the shield as a battering ram to shove him back until he trips over the soldier lying on the floor. Two solid hits to the face with the shield and the soldier is down.

Steve looks up just in time to see Bucky standing over the third soldier. Bucky jabs the point of his staff into the man’s forehead with a short, precise motion. The man’s head slams back against the floor with a crack and he goes limp.

“Shall we?” Bucky says, not a hair out of place.

Steve nods, tamping down his disappointment at not getting to see Bucky fight. He turns his attention to the vault door. A tiny sliver of light shows through where the door is slightly ajar. “That’s not a good sign.” He exchanges a look with Bucky as they walk closer. With the tip of his staff, Bucky pushes the door open all the way.

“Guys,” Steve says into the comms. He stares into the empty room. “It’s gone.”

Bucky walks inside and pokes at the bare table with his staff. “The way is closed,” he bites out, each word sharp and distinct. “They shouldn’t be getting away.”

“I might be able to explain that,” Nat says over the comms. “I’m in the control room, and I’m looking at their security screens. Hang on.” Steve hears a buzzing sound, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground. “They have an additional screen for the infrared range, but I’ve never seen this level of sensitivity before. If I had to guess,” Nat says, “I think it’s good enough to detect the quinjet from a hundred klicks out. I think they saw us coming and snuck off. Left the soldiers behind to cover their escape.”

“Are you saying,” Tony says, sounding like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, “ _their_ scanning tech can beat _my_ stealth tech? No one can beat my stealth tech! Lockheed would _kill_ for my stealth tech!” 

Bucky’s mouth flattens. Steve can already guess what he’s going to say before he says it.

“No one on _Earth_ can beat your tech _._ ” Bucky’s expression grim as he meets Steve’s gaze.

“What’re you saying there, Bucky boy? Are you saying this elf violated your Prime Directive?” 

“This is an elf that desecrated a sacred tree,” Bucky says. “I suspect he didn’t even hesitate.”

“Great.”

“Guys,” Steve says. “Enough chatter. Let’s do clean up and pull out.”

“I’m taking that tech with me,” Tony says, with a challenge in his voice. “I’m going to reverse engineer it so I can beat it. Are you going to have a problem with that, Bucky?”

“I’ll file a report with the Council.” Bucky smiles, tight and vicious. “It’ll take me… oh, probably a month to get the report right. Maybe two.”

Steve can feel himself grinning as quiet sniggers greet this statement.

“You and I are going to get along just fine,” Tony says. 

“Okay, wrap it up,” Steve says, because he feels like he should be the adult in the room… Hydra base… whatever.

“I need to check something.” Bucky walks out of the room and over to the unconscious body of the soldier he’d knocked out. He crouches down and skims his hands over the soldier’s body. 

“What are you looking for?”  

Bucky doesn’t look at Steve when he answers. “I can feel the Heart’s power in this man. But I can’t find a source for it.” He looks up at Steve, expression troubled. “No talisman or charm. I need to bring him back for the mages to study.”

Steve frowns and folds his arms. “When you say ‘study’…”

“Yeah,” Sam interjects, from somewhere in the base. “I wanna hear the answer to this too.”

“Nothing invasive. No torture. We will accord him the same rights as any prisoner of war, Captain.”

“He will be treated honorably, Steve,” Thor says. “Asgardians have battled the Ljósálfar before, and we have never known them to be cruel to their prisoners.”

“I can live with that,” Steve says. “Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Bucky places his hand on the soldier’s chest and looks up at Steve. “I’ll deliver him to the mages and come straight back. We still have work to do here.” After a parting nod, Bucky and the soldier disappear.

Steve barely has time to register a strange pang before Bucky’s back.

“Shall we, Captain?”

Anticipation swirls through Steve. “Anyone need backup?”

 

*

 

When Steve first came out of the ice, he’d felt hollow and lost. Mealtimes were especially hard, eating alone in his SHIELD-assigned apartment. He’d gotten used to the camaraderie of eating terrible food together with the Howlies, sometimes around campfires, sometimes in the cold and dark. Being in the Tower had helped, because there was always someone around in the dining room around meal times.

When Sam moved in, he’d taken one look at the Avengers and made an executive decision that everyone should eat together once a week. And so, because Sam had said so, every Saturday night, they try to. It’s probably one of Steve’s favorite nights of the week for that reason. He may not join in the conversation much, but hearing the ebb and flow of it around him eases the hollowness inside him. 

“Going out tonight?” he says to Wanda. She’s dressed in a high-necked halter top made from… gold chain mail? Her heavily kohled eyes look huge and very green. He’s glad to see her reclaiming the edgier look. There was a time when she buried that darker side of herself; after the havoc she’d caused, after Pietro. 

“Yes,” she says. “With Nat and Sam and…”

Steve freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth when Bucky saunters in. He’s wearing tight black jeans and a long-sleeved silk shirt that drapes his body in elegant folds. The shirt is a rich dark red, covered with a bold print of pink and mauve flowers with green accents. His hair falls around his face in a thick, wavy curtain that conceals the points of his ears. The open V-neck of his shirt reveals glimpses of slim collarbones and smooth golden skin.

It is a _look._ What kind of look, Steve’s not sure. He just knows it’s a look. And it works.

“…Bucky,” Wanda finishes. She exchanges a glance with Nat before hiding a smile behind her spoon.

So that answers Steve’s question of who helped Bucky get his clothes. Steve can’t seem to look away as Bucky pulls out the empty chair next to Steve and sits down.

So much for inviting Bucky to spar with him after dinner. Fighting side by side with Bucky during the raid on the Hydra base left Steve itching to test himself against Bucky’s speed and power, just the two of them. If he’s honest, he’s been itching since their first breakfast together. “Where are you guys off to?”

Nat looks at him from across the table. “We thought we’d show Bucky a little of the famous New York nightlife before he goes home. Coffee and cakes and clubbing.” Which explains the black, low cut, v-necked top she has on. Nat’s eyes gleam with mischief. “You should come with us, Steve.”

There’s a hint of a dare in Nat’s tone, as though she knows he’ll say no, like he’s said no many times before. The crowds, the noise, the flashing lights, all things he prefers to avoid. He’s about to say no yet again when he notices Bucky watching him. There’s a look in his eyes that Steve tries, and fails, to decipher. _Before he goes home,_ Steve thinks. He opens his mouth and hears himself say, “Sure.”

Bucky ducks his head, his hair falling forward to obscure the beginnings of a smile.

Wanda pats his forearm and resumes eating, while Nat looks smug.

“What,” Steve says. “What’s going on?”

“You never come out with us anymore, Steve,” Nat says. “We’re just happy you said yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll all have a wonderful time,” Pepper says warmly to Steve.

“Actually,” Tony says, “this has been bugging me for a while now. Bucky, why do you look so much like Tolkien’s elves? I was going to ask after the movie but _somebody_ ”—“Tony,” Pepper admonishes—“wouldn’t let me.”

Bucky sniffs as he spreads his napkin on his lap. “I think you mean Tolkien’s elves look like _us_.” At the silence that greets this statement, Bucky smiles. “Did you think I was the first?” He glances around the table, just a little bit smug. “We’ve been coming here for a long time, O Iron One. Seelie and Unseelie? Ljósálfar and Dökkálfar, as the Norse call us? They come from somewhere.” 

Steve thinks back on the stories his mother used to tell him of the daoine sidhe, the Fair Folk who lived under the hill.

“We’re the Seelie, of course.” Bucky sniffs. “The Unseelie are such a humorless bunch. No concept of fun. Only darkness, no light? Why not both? If the Asgardians hadn’t done something about them, _we_ would have.”

Thor gives Bucky a wry smile. “You’re welcome, humble emissary.”

Sam points his fork at Bucky. “Are you telling me that what happened in London with Thor… That weird white-haired guy—you’re related?”

Bucky waves a dismissive hand. “We do not speak of it,” he says loftily.

Sam grins. A big, shit-eating sort of grin. Steve suspects Bucky’s going to be hearing a lot about his ‘relatives’ in the coming days.

“Do you think I’ll blend in?” Bucky murmurs, leaning towards Steve.

  
Steve finds himself mirroring the movement. He eyes the way the silk of Bucky’s shirt accentuates the muscled grace of his body. “I think you’ll stand out. I’m pretty sure that’s the effect you’re going for?”

“Perhaps,” Bucky says with a pleased smile.

 

*

 

“Sam, you don’t have to keep me company,” Steve shouts, over the music that beats at him, throbbing and oppressive. “I’m a big boy, I can handle sitting by myself.”

The club is one of the most exclusive ones in the city. The dance floor is packed with fashionable people moving in sync with the beat. At least in the VIP area, he’s out of the crush of bodies. He’s parked on a couch with a good view of the dance floor, and New Yorkers being New Yorkers, nobody bothers them.

“Hey, I’m just finishing my whiskey.” Sam waggles his glass at him. “Once I’m done, you’re on your own.”

Steve claps a hand on his shoulder, grateful in spite of himself for Sam’s company. Fifteen minutes and he’s starting to regret the odd impulse to join them on their night out. 

“It’s okay, you know,” Sam says.

Steve drags his attention away from the woman dancing too close to Bucky. Bucky hasn’t noticed her, more focused on doing some kind of complicated dance sequence with Nat and Wanda. “What do you mean?”

Sam points his drink in Bucky’s direction. “Bucky. That kinda thing isn’t illegal anymore. No one will mind.” Sam pauses to consider this. “Well, except maybe for people who watch Fox News. But fuck them.”

Steve’s pretty sure an elf from another dimension entering the country without a visa is pretty damned illegal, but it’s true Fox News would have a field day if they found out about Bucky. Bunch of xenophobic assholes. “One slip and someone might see his ears.” He glares at the crowd of people around Bucky. Too many, too close, too _forward_. “This is a bad idea. We should go.”

Sam catches his arm. “You’re kidding, right?”

“About what?”

“You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Steve straightens when a tall blond guy insinuates his way in front of Bucky and gets up way too close. Bucky places a hand flat on the guy’s chest and pushes, waggles his finger, and gives the guy a taunting grin. “You’re talking about how we’re risking people finding out there’s an elf in New York?” Steve says. He keeps an eye on the overly handsy guy in case he tries again.

“Steve. This is New York. Anyone sees those ears, they’ll just assume Bucky’s some kinda very committed cosplayer. People won’t even blink.”

“So if it’s not that, than what _are_ you talking about?”

“You really _don’t_ know what I’m talking about.” Sam looks like puzzle pieces are slotting into place in his head. “You ever notice how much you watch the guy?”

“He’s—Look. It’s an artist thing. I watch a lot of people, because I like drawing people. Bucky’s just—” Steve closes his mouth, and doesn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes. He feels uncomfortable and exposed, like it’s his first time on the USO stage. No one’s ever called him out on it before. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s less careful now that looking too long at a guy won’t get him beat up, or even killed, or because he’s just that drawn by Bucky.

There’s something that looks like sympathy in Sam’s eyes. It makes Steve very twitchy. “I like drawing him. I get like that sometimes. About certain people. Guys, included.”

“Okay, Steve.” Sam holds up his hands. “I hear you. But if you ever need to talk, I’m here, and I won’t judge.” He elbows Steve. “At least come join us. Don’t just sit here all night.”

“I’m not going out there,” Steve mutters.

“Captain America.” Sam smirks. “Scared of a dance floor?”

“I can’t dance, Sam,” Steve says, relieved. He would very much like to keep the conversation to their usual pattern of Sam poking fun at him and him grumping back, instead of wherever the hell it was going earlier.

“Didn’t you make those recruitment things?”

“I didn’t _dance_. I carried a bunch of people on a motorcycle.”

“I’m just hearing excuses, Steve. Get out there. Bucky’ll be happy to show you what to do.” Sam does a weird arm thing like he’s pedaling a bicycle with his hands. “Elf’s got moves.”

Steve’s gaze slides back to where Bucky, Nat, and Wanda are dancing, faces alight as they move to the throbbing beat amid the sea of dancers. They’re at ease in their bodies the way he can only be when he’s fighting. The chorus girls had tried to teach him how to dance. Even Peggy. He’d come closest with her, just the two of them in her room, swaying together to a slow song.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine right here.”

“Think about what I said, Steve.” Sam finishes his drink and puts the empty glass on the table. “Don’t waste your chance.” He gets up and pats Steve on the shoulder. _Chance for what_ , Steve wonders as he stares after Sam.

He gets an inkling of what Sam means a few minutes later. Bucky smiles at a gorgeous brunette and lets her get close enough to wrap her arm around his waist. She stretches up to whisper something in his ear. The agitation that’s been creeping over his skin since Bucky got on the dance floor turns into a sour acid burn in his gut that he can’t mistake for concern.

He drains his whiskey and wishes the serum hadn’t taken away his ability to get drunk. He does the next best thing and shoves everything into the locked box in his head. He’ll deal with it later. Or maybe after Bucky’s done with his mission and gone home to his world. Or maybe never. He orders another whiskey. Never sounds good.

Now he knows he’s basically creeping, he tries not to check on Bucky too often. Worrying about Bucky’s safety when he’s one of the best fighters Steve’s ever seen seems pretty fucking dumb in hindsight. No wonder Sam looked ready to slap him upside the head. He pulls out his phone and launches a game of Go to distract himself. For once, he’s glad the pulsing music leaves little space for his own thoughts. Stop creeping, he reminds himself. The fifth time in ten minutes he looks up, Bucky’s gone. Steve lurches upright and scans the crowd for long brown hair and a scarlet shirt.

“What are you looking for?” Bucky says, right into his ear.

Steve spins around. “Where did you—Never mind.” He takes in Bucky’s flushed, smiling face. His hair is tousled, like he’d been raking his fingers through it. A faint sheen of sweat gleams on his skin. _Christ._ He wraps a few more chains around the box in his head. “Tired of dancing already?”

“Never,” Bucky says with a grin. “But the volume is starting to wear on me.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watches Steve from under his lashes.

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea, but still he says it. “We could go outside for a while?”

A pleased smile appears on Bucky’s face.

 

*

 

They stroll along the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind. Every time Bucky’s arm brushes against his, his heart thuds in his chest. It’s almost a relief when Steve spots a diner up ahead. “Wanna grab a coffee?” he asks. 

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Do you think they have strawberry milkshake?”

“Only one way to find out.”

It turns out the diner does indeed have strawberry milkshake. They get their drinks and sit down at a booth in the corner. The only other occupied booth is near the door. After giving Steve and Bucky very thorough once-overs, its two occupants pay them no mind, more interested in flirting with each other.

Bucky takes a sip of his milkshake, pink lips wrapping around the straw. _Don’t think about it,_ Steve reminds himself. Bucky sucks a smear of milkshake off his bottom lip and says, “Why didn’t you join us, Captain?”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Steve says, just managing to keep his gaze from drifting south of Bucky’s nose. “Not like you.” Bucky studied the dancers when they’d arrived at the club, and within moments of getting on the dance floor, was dancing with a loose-limbed grace like he’d been clubbing all his life. “I would never have guessed it was your first time. You seem… very open to new experiences.”

“We’re a long-lived people. If we don’t learn to find pleasure from moment to moment, all those years would be hard to fill.”

Now there’s a thought. “How old _are_ you?”

Bucky props his chin on his hand. “That’s a very personal question, Captain.”

“It’s not—I mean…” Steve clears his throat. “You’re an elf, you might be a lot older than you look and—”

Bucky takes pity on him and interrupts before he rambles himself off a cliff. “You should see your face, Captain.” Bucky gives him a lopsided smile. “I’m 258 years old, by your reckoning. Not so very old, but still old enough.” Heat suffuses Steve’s cheeks at the sly look Bucky gives him. “But of course,” Bucky continues, “we are all children compared to Thor.”

Who’s more than a thousand years old.

“Try not to think about it, Captain. Past the first two hundred or so years, it all bleeds together.”

Is that a relief? If what Thor had implied about the effects of the serum is true, he’s going to have to think about it sometime. But not today, he decides, and shoves the thought into the locked box with all the other things he doesn’t want to think about.

“And what about you?” Bucky says. “Thor tells me you’re much older than you look.”

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Our head of spies is very thorough.” Bucky’s smile is unrepentant. “How are you handling the passage of time?”

“I slept through most of it.” Outside the window, people walk past, a mix of races and fashions and body modifications. “Waking up after seventy years was… a surprise.”

Bucky makes a quiet sound.

“I still don’t know if I’ve found my place.” He stares into his coffee. “Not that I ever really fit in when I was growing up.”

“Why not?”

“I had… a lot of sharp edges, I guess. The war was the first time I ever felt like I belonged somewhere, like I was part of a team. When I woke up, everyone was… gone.” Even Peggy, in a way. “I was born in this city, but I can barely recognize it.” The world had moved on around him, and he’s been scrambling to catch up ever since. “It’s been five years, but sometimes, I still turn a corner and expect to see a different view.”

“The ghost of the place you used to know haunts you.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s a good way of putting it.”

Bucky props his chin on his hand. “Are any of the places still as you remember?”

“Some. A pizza place on Cobble Hill. It’s not quite the same, though.”

“But it’s still good pizza?”

“Yes,” Steve concedes. “It’s still good pizza.” Different but still good. Like his team.

“It’s good to hold on to memories. But it’s nice to have many different places to buy pizza.”

“I guess.” He gives a rueful smile and wishes he could visit all those different places with Bucky. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Please.” Bucky taps the top of Steve’s hand with a warm finger. “I am honored you’d share this.”

Steve’s hand tingles with the remembered warmth of that touch. He wants to sink into the comforting gray of Bucky’s eyes. He looks down at his coffee instead.

As if sensing his discomfort, Bucky scans the menu board behind him. “What do you think would be nice to eat here?”

“Apple pie.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow. “How very American.”

Steve shrugs, grateful to Bucky for lightening the conversation. “I really do like it.”

“Then apple pie it is.”

Steve catches snatches of conversation as Bucky leans against the counter to place his order with the waitress. She blushes and tucks her hair behind her ears, looking suddenly radiant despite the tired lines etched on her face. Another one won over by Bucky’s particular brand of magic—he flirts as naturally as he breathes air. Coupled with his genuine interest in people, it makes him almost irresistible. Steve certainly hadn’t been immune.

While he waits, Steve pulls out his phone to check his messages. There are only two.

12.34 a.m.

Sam: GET IT, STEVE

12.36 a.m.

Sam: that was nat btw. but yeah… GET IT

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. _Don’t think about it._ He puts away his phone without replying as Bucky returns with a large slice of apple pie, two generous scoops of vanilla ice-cream on the side. Butterscotch sauce is drizzled over everything, enough to pool around the ice-cream.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to sprinkle icing sugar on top,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes get very wide. “I can do that?”

Steve laughs as he hands Bucky a fork. “Please don’t.”

 

*

 

Steve punches his pillow and flops onto his back. They got back to the Tower two hours ago, but he’s still too wired to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Don’t think about Bucky, he orders himself. Don’t think about him dancing with faceless partners, hips moving smoothly to the beat. Don’t think about how pink his lips look when he smiles around his straw. Don’t think about the soft gray of his eyes when he listens while Steve rambles on about his life.

_Jesus Christ._

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. So much for not thinking about Bucky. He rips off the covers and gets out of bed. No way he can sleep like this. He changes into a pair of sweatpants and heads for the gym.

He’s not blind, or at least, not anymore. He can see now that Bucky’s been flirting with him all along, a purposeful and focused kind of flirting.

And he’s been responding. He can see that now too. It maybe is a bit of a surprise, but it doesn’t present any kind of problem. He’s an adaptable kind of guy. He’s gone from small to big, the Forties to a whole new age. He can adapt to finding out he’s not straight.

No, the real problem—is something he doesn’t want to think about either. 

Thirty minutes at the reinforced punching bag and his knuckles ache through their wrappings. His muscles burn and sweat drips off his hair, but he can’t sink into the quiet place where there’s nothing but the sound of his breaths and the thump of fists against the punching bag.

“So much excess energy.”

Steve spins around to see Bucky lounging on top of the rock climbing wall, long legs swinging idly. 

“I can help you with that,” Bucky says.

Steve finds it suddenly very hard to breathe. He licks his lips and mops sweat from his brow. “What do you suggest?”

Bucky smiles. “Spar with me.”

Surely there’s no harm in it—it’s just sparring after all. It’ll help focus his mind only on the moment, help him break free from the hamster wheel it’s trapped in. If his logic is a little cockeyed since it’s Bucky he’s trying not to think of, well… he’ll let himself have this one thing. He’s wanted it since Bucky challenged him over a pot of maple syrup. “I’d like that.”

Bucky stands up and steps off the ledge.

“Bucky—!”

Bucky lands on his toes, knees bent to absorb the force of his landing, effortless as a cat. He walks toward Steve, hands behind his head as he braids his hair, exposing the pointed tips of his ears. He secures the end of the braid with a silver clasp before winding the braid around his neck and tucking the end into the collar of his T-shirt.

“Were you worried about me?” Bucky asks. There’s a pleased light in his eyes as he pulls his staff out of nowhere. It’s almost the same length as Bucky is tall, carved from wood that resembles ebony, smooth and unadorned except for the silver bands on its ends. 

“No,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles, seeing through the lie. He spins the staff as he slinks forward. Every motion is fluid and sure. “Aren’t you going to get your shield?”

Feeling very much like a rabbit being mesmerized by a snake, Steve says, “I didn’t bring it.”

“Hand to hand then.” The staff slides out of sight and Bucky covers the last ten feet in one smooth leap.

Steve sucks in a shocked breath and barely manages to block Bucky’s straight-armed strike. And then it begins, a series of lightning-quick blows and counterblows. Bucky’s fighting style is quick and fluid, resembling tai chi but much faster, much smoother, much deadlier. It’s like fighting water. Bucky flows out of the way when Steve attacks, spinning back in with sweeping moves at odd angles.

Steve lurches to the side, feeling the wind of the throat strike against the skin of his neck. His punch has Bucky spinning around. The tail of Bucky’s braid slips free from his shirt and whips past Steve’s face. Most people wouldn’t have been fast enough to catch it, but Steve’s not most people. He grabs it and pulls.

Bucky leaps forward, going in the same direction as the pull, spinning _over_ Steve’s head. He grips Steve’s hand and presses down on a nerve. It’s like getting hit by electricity. Tingles spread across Steve’s hand and it goes numb. The braid slips free and Bucky lands with a triumphant smile on his face. A wicked, slightly mad glow lights his eyes as he dances backwards out of reach and oh… oh, Steve’s _captivated_. He feels an equally mad grin stretch across his face.

Steve’s blood sings through his veins like liquid fire as he punches, strikes, blocks. Bucky mixes up leg sweeps and strange, sideways slipping moves with sudden short, brutal frontal attacks. It’s a challenge to anticipate his moves. Their blows connect with meaty thuds, no other sound except for Steve’s breaths. Bucky fights with precise, silent control.

A strike overextended by a hair’s breadth gives Steve the chance to grab Bucky’s wrist and pull. Instead of trying to get free, Bucky throws himself at Steve. Steve topples backwards and lands on the floor with an armful of warm, sweaty elf above him.

“So, Captain…” Bucky’s lush, pink lips are parted, breath quickened with exertion. “Now that you’ve got me, what do you plan to do with me?”

Steve freezes. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, mind blank except for one thought: he can’t go through it again. Not another relationship cut off too soon. Not after Peggy. 

The light in Bucky’s eyes dims, replaced by hurt comprehension. The teasing smile fades from his lips. He jumps up like he’s been scalded. “My apologies.” Bucky ducks his head, doesn’t quite meet Steve’s eyes. “I must have misread you,” he says, in a voice that’s tight and toneless.

Steve scrambles to his feet, already missing the warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against his. “Bucky, wait—!”

Bucky flinches back, his face pale and set. He disappears.

Everything stops: his breath, his heart, his thoughts. In that moment, the magnitude of his stupidity becomes crystal clear.

“JARVIS!”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Where’s Bucky?”

“I’m afraid I can find no trace of him in the Tower.”

No. _No._ He’s a fool. A blind, careless, cowardly fool. He was so focused on protecting himself that he’d ended up hurting Bucky instead. Every muscle is tense with the need to go after Bucky, to apologize, to fix things. But he can’t. Bucky’s gone where he can’t follow.

And if Bucky doesn’t come back… _Fuck._ “JARVIS, can you—if—”

“If Emissary Buchanan returns, I will inform you immediately, Captain.”

“Thank you.” He presses a hand to his chest, trying to ease the sick, hollow feeling that’s lodged there.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been a week since Bucky disappeared. Seven days of eating breakfast alone while the waitstaff sneak sympathetic looks at him. He didn’t realize how much he treasured their mornings together, just the two of them, until he was sitting opposite an empty chair. No one mentions Bucky around him. He’s pretty sure everyone can tell from his face, and Bucky’s continued absence, that something has gone wrong.

He soldiers on, because it’s what he does. When another Hydra base is discovered, he’s more than happy to go knock some heads.

It turns out to be a trap. The base is packed full of soldiers, half of them enhanced. He’s backed into a corner of a lab on the north side of the retrofitted warehouse, hemmed in by five of the enhanced soldiers. It might be his imagination, but these soldiers seem stronger than the ones Steve fought in the last raid. They move faster, react quicker. He’s been holding them off for the last fifteen minutes but it’s costing him—he’s losing blood from at least a dozen wounds. The other Avengers don’t sound any better off, so he ignores the burning ache in his muscles, keeps his shield up, keeps punching.

The weight of the shield starts to drag on his arm. He’s seriously considering calling for backup when there’s a shimmer in the air behind one of the soldiers. Bucky steps through without a sound. Steve’s heart sings in his chest and an extra surge of strength flows through him at the sight of that longed-for face. He swings his shield with renewed vigor and the soldier in front of him reels back from the blow.

After a moment to assess the situation, Bucky jabs the point of his staff into the unprotected neck of one of the soldiers. The soldier drops to the floor, limbs twitching. It doesn’t take long for the other four soldiers to be subdued now that they’re pinned between Bucky and Steve. When the last soldier collapses to the floor with a smashed throat courtesy of Bucky’s staff, Steve bends over at the waist, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Bucky crouches down next to one of the dead soldiers. He presses all five fingertips of one hand to the man’s cheek. His lip curls. Getting up smoothly, he moves to another body and repeats the action. “Abomination,” he whispers.

He stands up and dusts off his hands. After a quiet breath, he turns to face Steve. His gaze goes to the places on Steve’s body where blood seeps through the tears on his suit. “You have not been careful with yourself.”

“You came back,” Steve pants.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m here for a reason, after all.”

“I… worried.” Steve straightens up, feeling at a distinct disadvantage with this cool and reserved version of Bucky. “I hoped I’d see you again.”

An uncertain look crosses Bucky’s face. “I see,” he says, in a tone that indicates he doesn’t.

Steve wants to say more, but they’re in the middle of an active operation and his teammates could use a hand. He points at the door. “I need to—”

Bucky nods, formal and distant. But when Steve passes him, he falls into step and follows.

 

*

 

The team sit around the conference table in various stages of exhaustion. The only one still looking fresh and alert is Thor—one of the perks of being a god. Sam and Clint are bandaged in several different places. There’s a bruise on Wanda’s cheek that’s really pissing Steve off. For all her power, she’s still just a kid. They’ve all got minor injuries, but if Bucky hadn’t arrived when he did, things could have gone a lot worse.

Bucky occupies the armchair, just as he did that day three weeks ago when he first appeared in the meeting room. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, one bare foot crossed over the other, his face grim. He looks wan in a T-shirt and sweatpants, like he’d barely slept during the week he was away. Steve wants to sit Bucky down in front of a mountain of pancakes, a stick of butter, and a gallon jug each of maple syrup and salted caramel. And when Bucky’s eaten his fill, Steve wants to pack him off to bed so he can sleep.

“I can tell you how the soldiers are gaining their strength,” Bucky says. His mouth twists, stretching the healing cut on his lip. “After our mages studied the soldier I brought home with me—don’t worry,” Bucky says, when Steve opens his mouth. “He’s still alive and will remain so, and no, he wasn’t injured in any way while the mages studied him.”

“Good.” Steve leans back in his seat. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says. It comes out sounding stilted and awkward and Steve wants very much to hide his face in his hands. At least his teammates all seem to have collectively agreed to ignore the tension between him and Bucky.

“The soldiers are injected with a substance derived from the Heart of the Morrigan,” Bucky continues. “Those who don’t die will develop the enhanced abilities after a week or so.” Bucky’s voice is neutral, but there’s a slight edge to it that betrays Bucky’s disquiet. “Based on what I saw today, I think von Strucker has perfected his method. The soldiers are much stronger, and the Heart’s power signature is stable.”

“I concur,” Thor says.

“Me too,” Steve says. All around the room, he sees tired nods of agreement.

“What’s happening with the soldier you brought back?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid we’ll be keeping him. He will have to remain incarcerated for life. The sentence for desecrating the Tree is death, but since he didn’t understand the true nature of the substance he was injected with, the Queen has shown clemency.”

“Yeah, I’m good with that,” Sam says. “One less Hydra fanatic for us to deal with.”

“How many of those soldiers do you think Hydra can make?” Nat asks. She’s holding her left arm closer to her body than usual. It’s got to be hurting pretty bad if she’s favoring it visibly. Steve makes a note to check in on her later.

“From the size of the branch that was stolen,” Bucky says, “the mages estimate at least a thousand.”

“Damn,” Clint says, dragging Steve’s mind back to the problem of a thousand enhanced soldiers. Clint leans back in his chair and picks at the bandage on his forearm. “That’s one thousand too many.”

“We’ve got to hit Hydra’s bases hard and fast,” Steve says. “Now they know what they’re doing, we can expect to face a lot more of their enhanced soldiers, and soon.”

“Our mages have been working on this since the branch was taken.” Bucky places a silver disc on the table. “It’s keyed to the Heart’s signature.” He opens the disc to reveal a compass face, its needle pointing in a south-westerly direction.

“JARVIS,” Tony says, too tired to even comment on the pocket dimension.

“I will narrow down the search parameters based on the direction shown by the compass, Sir. With the quantity of data I am sifting through, it will be several days before I have viable options.”

That’s good. Everyone can use the extra time to recover—everyone except him, Thor, and Bucky, that is. Based on the half-healed cut on Bucky’s lip, his healing might be faster than Steve’s. “Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve says. “Rest up everyone. We need to be ready to move once we get a location.”

The mood is somber as everyone files out. Fifty soldiers and they’d all come away limping. He pictures taking on a hundred of them, two hundred. A thousand. The outcome does not look good for them.

When Bucky stands up, Steve lunges out of his chair so fast it rolls backwards on its casters and bangs into the wall. “Bucky, wait.” The thought of Bucky disappearing again has it coming out a little too loud. Wanda looks back but she pauses only long enough to give him an encouraging smile before tugging Clint out the door.

“I know this isn’t the best time,” Steve says, “but will you have dinner with me tonight?”

After one brief flicker of surprise, Bucky’s face smooths into an unreadable mask. Steve’s so used to seeing nothing but warmth and welcome in Bucky’s face that the lack has his heart banging around inside his ribcage. Seconds tick away in uncomfortable silence. When Bucky finally nods, Steve’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Is seven good for you?”

“Yes,” Bucky says.

“Okay. Good. I’ll… see you tonight.”

Bucky looks at him uncertainly. He clears his throat. “Where?”

“Oh. God. Sorry,” Steve stammers. “My apartment?”

 

Bucky nods again, and with one last look in Steve’s direction, he follows Wanda out the door instead of teleporting to Oileáin Thuaidh. Steve hopes that’s a sign Bucky plans to stay on Earth till they find the oathbreaker. It’s a reach, but after a week of missing Bucky, he’ll take what he can get.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“I’m gonna need a little help.”

 

*

 

Steve straightens the forks and knives on the table for the hundredth time. Moves the low vase of flowers one-eighth of an inch to the left so it’s dead center on the table for two. His hand hovers over the tealight candles in their crystal holders. Too much? They’re probably too much. No matter his hopes, it’s more an apology dinner than a date.

He’s reaching for the candles when there’s a knock on the door.

Just for a moment, he entertains the thought of tossing them into the kitchen, but he leaves them and hurries to open the door. His eyes widen at the sight of Bucky in a dark green hoodie and close-fitting black sweatpants, long hair loose around his shoulders. Bucky seems similarly taken aback as he takes in Steve’s blue button-down shirt and black jeans.

“My apologies, Steve. I didn’t realize—”

“No, no! I should have said—” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Please come in.” He closes the door behind Bucky, face flaming.

Bucky stares at the dining table with an unreadable expression on his face. “Why did you ask me here tonight?”

The candles had been too much. He should’ve tossed them when he had the chance. Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize. For the other night.”

“No,” Bucky says softly. “ _I_ should be the one—”

“Please let me finish.”

Bucky clamps his lips together and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking suddenly small and vulnerable. _I did this to him,_ Steve thinks. God, please let him be able to make it up to Bucky.

“The other night,” Steve says, “you said you misread me. You didn’t. From the moment you stepped into my life, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” Steve takes a careful step closer under Bucky’s wary gaze. “I just… I didn’t realize what it meant. Not till that night at the club.”

“Then why?” Bucky’s looking at him now. “Why didn’t you kiss me back?” Steve can hear the hurt in his voice, but there’s anger in the set of his jaw and the confrontational look in his eyes. It’s well-deserved anger. With the way he’d acted around Bucky, there was no way Bucky would’ve expected his advances to be unwelcome.

“During the war, I met someone. Peggy.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as Bucky watches him with wary eyes. “She’s ninety-five now. On a good day, she can still remember me.” And the good days are getting fewer and farther in between with every visit. “When I said goodbye to her in 1945 and got on that plane, we had a future in front of us. Sure, maybe one or both of us might not have survived the war, but the chance was there.” He tries for a smile. “I woke up from the ice to find myself part of her past. I wasn’t ready for that, Buck. We were just getting started and then… it was over.”

“Steve,” Bucky says. His voice is soft and hushed voice, his anger seeming to have leached away as Steve spoke.

“It took a while, but I’m okay now. She’ll always be special to me, but the Peggy I had my chance with, she’s part of my past now, too. I’m only telling you this because, well… when I figured out I was falling for you, I—” He makes himself meet Bucky’s eyes. “I was scared, Buck. I didn’t want to go through it again.”

Bucky’s expression closes down.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his. “I’m not scared anymore,” Steve says. “Well, I mean I’m still a little scared, but when you left, I realized some things.”

“Such as?”

“Whatever time we have before you get your new mission, I’d still rather have that than nothing at all.” He should have remembered that from his time with Peggy. “Besides, it’s too late for me.” A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “When you go, it’s going to hurt either way.” 

“I’ll come back,” Bucky whispers, pulling Steve close. “If you’re here for me to come back to, I’ll come back.”

“Oh.” The tight knot lodged behind his breastbone dissipates, leaving him almost lightheaded. He hadn’t even realized how much it weighed on him until it was gone. “That’s fine then,” he says stupidly. He doesn’t care if they have to spend months apart while Bucky’s on Oileáin Thuaidh doing whatever it is he does. As long as he keeps getting to see Bucky again, it’ll all be worth it.

For the first time since entering the apartment, Bucky smiles. “As though I’d have the strength to stay away.”

“Well, I didn’t _know_ that,” Steve says, with a squeeze that makes Bucky laugh.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Captain.”

“I don’t see a problem here, Buck.” It’s ridiculous how happy it makes him to have Bucky back to calling him ‘Captain’ with that teasing, infuriating inflection. It does odd things to his heart. And other parts as well.

The quirk of Bucky’s brow gives Steve the courage to cup Bucky’s cheek and trace the sharp line of a cheekbone with his thumb. This close, Steve can see the tiny crinkles at the corners of Bucky’s eyes, make out the fine texture of his skin. For the first time, he fully experiences his desire for Bucky without his fear or preconceptions getting in the way. It’s a sweet ache in his loins, a thrumming awareness under his skin. 

One last thing to get out of the way. He takes a fortifying breath. “I’ve, uh, never been with a man before. I thought you should know that.” Bucky’s eyes widen. “Not because of anything,” Steve rushes to reassure him. “Just that I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve been practicing but—”

Steve staggers back a step, the points of Bucky’s fingers pressing into his chest. Bucky bares his teeth in something that is not a smile. “I think you overestimate my willingness to share, Captain.”

“I read up, Bucky.” Then, because he’s curious to see Bucky’s reaction, he adds, “And practiced on myself.” He covers the hand on his chest with his own, thumb tracing the fine bones on the back of Bucky’s hand. “I wanted to make sure I could make it good for you.”

“Oh.” A slow smile spreads across Bucky’s face. His gaze turns heated as he lets Steve pull him close. “What did you try?”

“Jesus, Bucky.” Steve gives an embarrassed laugh even as his body responds to the warm press of Bucky’s body against his.

“Did you use your fingers?” Bucky asks, in a voice gone rough.

Steve nods.

“Did you like it?”

Heat prickles across Steve’s skin as he remembers the addictive burn and fullness of having his fingers inside himself, of imagining that it was Bucky filling him.

“You did,” Bucky croons, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “Oh, Captain. I hope you show me one day. I want to see how you pleasure yourself.”

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, as he pictures it—fingering himself while Bucky watches. “Yeah, yes. Anything you want, Buck.” He slides one hand into the heavy weight of Bucky’s hair and cups the back of Bucky’s head. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than kiss me,” Bucky says slyly. “But we can start with that.”

He takes his time exploring Bucky’s lips, enjoying the wet heat of his mouth when Bucky parts his lips to let Steve in. Desire winds its way up his spine. He pulls Bucky closer. He’s already half-way lost to desire when the timer on the oven dings. With a groan, he pulls away.

“How was that?” Bucky asks, voice gone velvety soft.

“Good,” Steve whispers, feeling dazed. “Great. _Really_ great.”

Bucky laughs. “That’s good to know.”

“We should eat.” Steve pulls away after one last kiss so he can taste the smile on Bucky’s lips.

“Are you feeling particularly hungry?”

“Not for food.”

“That is wonderful news indeed, Captain.”

“You like calling me that. Will you obey if I give you an order?”

“It depends on whether I like the order or not.” Bucky’s grin is sharp, his eyes hooded. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

Steve’s body lights up at the challenge in Bucky’s voice. “Take off your shirt.”

Bucky pulls off his shirt in a sinuous move, long hair cascading around wide shoulders. Muscles flex and shift when he reaches up to undo his hair.

“Leave that.” Steve walks behind Bucky, removes the silver clip holding Bucky’s hair off his face, and sinks his hands into the mass of silky smooth hair like he’s wanted to do for weeks now. Bucky tips his head back and makes a sound very much like a purr when Steve combs his fingers through it from root to tip. Heat coils its way up Steve’s spine at the sound.

Lean muscles from hours of fight training cord Bucky’s body. A fine tracery of silvery scars wend over golden skin. Steve wants to spend hours learning every inch of him, wants to hear the stories behind all the scars, whether from battles or from stupid accidents.

“Shall I take off my pants now?” Bucky asks, when Steve stands in front of him again.

Steve nods, not trusting his voice to remain steady. Bucky slides his sweatpants off, revealing nothing but bare skin. _God_. Steve’s not sure he can ever concentrate again now he knows Bucky might be naked under his clothes. Bucky straightens to reveal—oh thank God—a very human-looking and aroused cock; long and thick and uncut, flushed a beautiful pink. Steve can’t quite hide his relief when he sees it.

Bucky’s brow quirks. “Did you think I’d have a flowering vine for a penis?”

“Jesus, Bucky.” Steve gives a huff of laughter and closes the distance between them. “I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind.”

Bucky drapes his arms around Steve’s neck. Bucky’s not-a-flowering-vine cock lines up against his, and he bites back a groan. The image of how they must look together, Bucky’s nakedness pressed to his fully-clothed body, sends heat coiling up his spine. He’s very conscious of the smooth skin under his hands, and the dip in Bucky’s back where it curves out into the beginning swell of his ass.

“You’ve thought about my penis.” A teasing smile curves Bucky’s lips.

“I’ve thought about you a lot, Buck. Not just your penis.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and he leans in to press his lips to Steve’s. It’s light, exploratory. Steve’s hands tighten around Bucky’s hips and he tries to deepen the kiss, but Bucky arches back, keeping his mouth just out of reach. “Steve,” he says. “If you change your mind, find being with a man is not for you, you must tell me. You set the pace.”

“Or, you know, we could just do whatever feels natural, and if I need to slow it down, I’ll say so.” Steve strokes his thumb over Bucky’s lips. “I’m not a virgin, Buck. I know how to say stop.”

Bucky tilts his head and gives Steve a considering look as a slow smile spreads across his face. “I do like a man with a plan.”

“They showed you, didn’t they.” 

“Oh yes.” Bucky makes cupping motions with his hands. “Very nice shorts. I felt… inspired to buy whatever you were selling.”

“I need better friends,” Steve growls. But his friends aren’t what he wants to be thinking about now. He grips a handful of Bucky’s hair, coils it around his fist, and tugs. Bucky lets his head tilt back, baring the vulnerable curve of his neck to Steve. The combination of the challenge in Bucky’s eyes, and the trust in his surrender wraps iron chains around Steve’s heart.

“Now that you have me,” Bucky says, “what do you plan to do with me?”

It’s the same thing Bucky asked him the night he’d fucked up, and it feels like Bucky giving him a do-over. Steve’s got so many plans, so many things he’d imagined. But slow, he decides, as he smooths his hands up and down Bucky’s back, learning the feel of him. Bucky’s right to be cautious and he wants to take his time and do right by Bucky.

“I’m more of a doer than a talker.” He tugs Bucky in the direction of his bedroom. He’d tidied it up before dinner, blushing all the while at his presumptuousness. When they enter, Steve’s confronted by their reflections in the full-length mirror on his closet door. Bucky is almost slender next to him, graceful and lean compared to Steve’s bulk. He stands tall and proud, not in the least bit embarrassed at being naked when Steve isn’t. He looks deadlier out of his clothes than in them. Heat unfurls in Steve’s gut and crawls up his face.

“You like that, do you?” Bucky watches him in the mirror. “Like seeing us like this?” He grips his cock and jerks it once. A small bead of pre-come oozes out at the tip, catching the light.

“Christ,” Steve mutters. Without taking his eyes off Bucky’s reflection, Steve steps behind him and pulls him close with an arm around his waist. Steve groans at the feel of Bucky’s ass cradling his aching cock. “Yes,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear. “You’re gorgeous.” Bucky’s lips part as he pulls in a shuddering breath.

Steve gathers up Bucky’s hair and drapes it over one shoulder, exposing the line of Bucky’s neck. He presses kisses onto heated skin, making his way up to Bucky’s ear. He drags his lips over the curve of it, then he licks his way up to the pointed tip. From the way Bucky gasps and pushes back into Steve, the tip is especially sensitive. 

He wraps a hand around Bucky’s wrist. “Let me,” Steve whispers. Bucky’s eyes are hooded when he nods and lets go of his cock.

Shoving the little thread of nervousness down deep, Steve replaces Bucky’s hand with his own. It’s a lot like holding his own cock—the angle and weight of it familiar in his hand. And yet it feels nothing like it at all. It’s another man’s cock. He’s kind of relieved it’s uncut, like his own. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s how to jerk off a cock with a foreskin.

He keeps his grip loose as he strokes Bucky, just enough pressure to tease and drag it out. Bucky arches into him, lips wet and parted as a moan escapes him. His eyes lock onto Steve’s in the mirror, still with that hint of a challenge. God but Steve wants to _wreck_ him.

He lets go of Bucky’s cock, smirking at the frustrated growl this earns him, and skims his hands over Bucky’s body. He wants to memorize every line and curve of it, discover the places that make Bucky moan.

Steve brushes aside long brown hair and pinches a puckered nipple. Bucky jerks, muttering something that sounds like a curse. Steve does it again just to see Bucky arch his back and writhe. A pretty flush creeps down Bucky’s chest.

“Two can play at this game.” Bucky grabs Steve by the hips and grinds himself back.

“Fuck.” All thoughts of teasing Bucky fly out his head at the press of Bucky’s ass against his cock. Steve tightens his grip and strokes Bucky with steady, relentless rhythm. Bucky gives a breathless, triumphant laugh as he pushes back against Steve, matching his rhythm.

Heat ripples through Steve in thick, liquid waves. He can feel his brain cells burning out one by one as he watches the image in the mirror, sees the way his hand moves on Bucky’s cock, and the way Bucky arches and shifts in response. Every naked inch of him is temptation. Bucky’s eyes bore into him, dark and intent and consuming, until they’re all Steve can see.

“Bucky,” he gasps. He twists his hand over the head of Bucky’s cock, desperate to finish Bucky off before he loses control. A short, sharp cry, and Bucky’s coming all over Steve’s hand, muscles standing out in stark relief as his body jerks with the force of his orgasm. His head tips back onto Steve’s shoulder, lips parted as he sucks in shuddering breath after shuddering breath. When Steve looks up from the sight of Bucky’s semen dripping over his fist, Bucky’s watching him in the mirror with dark, dazed eyes.

“Come on,” Bucky whispers, in a voice that’s ragged and raw.

Steve groans and let’s go. Every muscle locks up as pleasure pulses through his body. His last coherent thought is that Bucky could probably raise him from the dead with his voice.

 

*

 

It’s still early enough the room is dim when Steve wakes up to a flowery scent teasing his senses and a tickling sensation on his face. When he brushes at it, his hand catches on long strands of hair. His eyes pop open. Bucky.

He’s sleeping on his side, facing away from Steve, with the sheets pulled up around his neck. A mad tangle of hair covers Bucky’s pillow and part of Steve’s as well. Smile tugging at his lips, he combs his fingers through the silky mass.

Bucky grumbles and snuggles deeper into the bed. “The sun isn’t up yet,” he says, voice slurred with sleep.

Steve strokes a hand down the bed-warm skin of Bucky’s back. “I don’t recall Legolas ever getting any tangles in his hair,” he says. It’s that or something hopelessly sentimental.

Bucky makes an irritated sound. “He _would_ if he didn’t have an army of hairdressers to untangle him between scenes. It’s not magic hair, Steve.” There’s a rustle as Bucky’s arm shifts under the covers. A hairbrush that didn’t exist on Earth a moment ago is shoved in Steve’s face. “Be the change.”

“You’re spending too much time with Nat,” Steve says, as he takes the hairbrush. It’s made of a honey-colored wood, its surface covered in carvings of curling vine. He looks at the mass of hair, sits up, and resigns himself to the task of being Bucky’s valet.

After five minutes, he can understand why pet therapy is a thing. His already mellow mood is made even mellower by the soothing, repetitive motions of brushing out Bucky’s hair, watching the tangles transform into smooth, shiny strands that lie flat on the pillow.

He sets the brush aside and buries his fingers in Bucky’s hair, enjoying the silky drag of it over his skin. Bucky gives a soft moan. Desire pools like heated honey in Steve’s gut, but it’s quiescent and patient. He strokes Bucky’s hair to one side to expose the paler skin of his nape. There’s something so intimate about getting to see this part of Bucky that’s almost always hidden by his hair. He presses a kiss to the warm, fragrant curve of it.

Bucky sighs and melts further into the mattress. A smile tugs at the corner of Steve’s mouth as he spoons Bucky, enjoying the feel of warm naked skin pressed to his. Bucky gives a pleased hum and covers Steve’s arm with his own.

Bucky’s breathing evens out and deepens, and then Steve is drifting off too.

 

*

 

At 2 a.m. in the morning, the deserted gym is silent except for the muted thuds of Bucky’s footfalls on the mat. Steve had tracked him there after he’d woken up to an empty spot where Bucky should’ve been, and a note on the bedside table. Just three days of sharing a bed with Bucky and his body can already tell when Bucky’s not there.

Steve skirts the edge of the mat, picks a spot that gives him a good view of Bucky, and leans against the wall to watch. Bucky is beautiful when he fights. He flows from defensive stance to attack and back again, movements so fast his limbs are a blur, hair whipping about him.

Seeing him now, it’s pretty clear Bucky had held back the day he first sparred with Steve. At the speed he’s moving now, Steve’s not sure he could’ve caught him. Sneaky elf… Bucky had let himself be caught. Time to arrange a rematch.

As the minutes tick by, Steve starts to worry. Bucky’s face is grim as he repeats the fighting form again and again, an almost desperate edge to his movements. When Bucky finally comes to a standstill, breathing fast, staff gripped in a white-knuckled fist, Steve walks over and hands him a towel. “Everything okay?”

Bucky grimaces and takes a little too long to mop up his sweat. He drapes the towel around his neck and stares at the staff in his hands. “We know who the traitor is,” he says in a tight voice. “It’s my uncle. He trained me.”

No wonder Bucky had returned from Oileáin Thuaidh looking troubled. He was quiet and withdrawn so Steve hadn’t pushed him to talk. Instead, he offered what comfort he could when Bucky had curled up against him on the couch. Steve pulls Bucky into a hug. “Were you close?”

“Yes, when I was still a child training under him.” Bucky’s voice is muffled against Steve’s shoulder. “Yhendorn was a good man once. But I think he left good behind a long time ago. I watched him change over the years. His pride twisted him. Ambition, greed…” A long sigh escapes Bucky. “I don’t want to have to do this.” He meets Steve’s eyes. “But I will.” “I could—”

“No.” Bucky’s voice is firm. “When we find him, don’t try to interfere.”

“Bucky…”

“You cannot interfere. If I fail, my Queen will send another to replace me.” Bucky pins Steve with a look. “But you _cannot interfere._ I don’t want to be the cause of an interdimensional diplomatic crisis.”

Okay, he can understand not fighting Bucky’s battles for him, but… “I can’t stand by and—What if he’s about to kill you?”

“We are very hard to kill, Steve.” Bucky cups a hand around Steve’s cheek. “Promise me. I can’t fight if I’m worrying you’re about to charge in at any moment.”

“Unfair, Bucky.”

“Truth. Have faith in my abilities, Captain. He may have trained me, but he wasn’t my only teacher. I’ve fought my way out of places he doesn’t even know exist.”

Steve clenches his jaw and shoves down the urge to hide Bucky away somewhere safe. “You’re sure you can take him?”

“He’s good. Very good, in fact.” Bucky’s gaze is steady on his. “But I’m better.” There’s some bravado there, but also the kind of quiet confidence that only comes from experience.

There’s no way Steve can stand by and do nothing if Bucky’s about to be killed right in front of him, interdimensional diplomatic crisis or not, but he keeps that to himself. He gets a bo staff from the rack of weapons lining the wall of the gym. He twirls it a few times to get a feel for its weight. A slow smile spreads across Bucky’s face as Steve walks towards him.

Steve drops into a fighting stance, staff held in a defensive position across his body. “Let’s make you even better.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Ready?” Bucky asks. The overhead lights in the training room cast dark shadows under his cheekbones. He looks lean and dangerous in his all-black clothes. His hair is pulled off his face and secured with the familiar silver clasp. His staff is secured to a bandoleer slung across his back.

“I still think I should go first,” Tony says, before Steve can answer. “You’re going to be alone on that mountainside while Bucky comes back for the rest of us.” There’s a melodic clang when Tony raps his armored chest with a gauntleted fist. “I’ve got the suit.”

“Your suit makes a lot of noise, Tony,” Steve says. “You’re not exactly discreet.”

“Steve’s right,” Nat says. “The whole point of having Bucky transport us is so they won’t know we’re coming.”

After six days of searching, JARVIS identified a base in the Carpathian Mountains as the likeliest location of the branch. Since Tony was still in the process of retrofitting the quinjet to be undetectable to Hydra’s boosted scanners, Bucky offered to ferry the team to the site using the in-between. It meant the team would be split up until Bucky finished teleporting everyone one by one, but it was the only way to maintain their element of surprise.

“Okay, _fine._ _”_ Tony throws up his arms. “Be reasonable about it.”

“Ready?” Bucky asks again, with an amused edge to his voice.

“Ready.” Steve doesn’t hide his smile. The Avengers squabble like a bunch of five-year-olds, but he wouldn’t have them any other way.

Silver vambraces gleam as Bucky puts his arm around Steve’s waist. That’s all the armor Bucky has on. Just two pieces of metal on his forearms. His high-necked tunic and loose-fitting pants tucked into leather boots afford no protection whatsoever. It makes Steve twitchy just to see it. He hadn’t been that worried during their previous encounters with the enhanced soldiers, but that was before he met Version 2.0. When he tried to convince Bucky to use a spare tactical suit, Bucky laughed in his face. “I can’t fight in that,” he said. “It’d be like being smothered by a turtle.”

“Watch yourselves,” Sam says.

“Roger that.” Steve gives a mock salute before stepping forward with Bucky. Everything ceases to exist, snuffed out between one moment and the next. The null void of the in-between beats at Steve’s ears. Any second now, he’s going to shred apart, the matter making up his body will stream away under the pressure of the vacuum. A blink and his foot sinks into snow with a soft crunching sound.

He sucks in a breath of air and resists the urge to pat down his body to make sure nothing’s missing. “That was—” But Bucky’s no longer by his side. Steve joins him at the edge of the snow-covered plateau.

Wind whips tendrils of hair around Bucky’s face as he stares down the mountainside at the squat concrete building below them. “It wants to return to the soil that gave it life,” he says, almost to himself.

Steve studies Bucky’s profile. “It can… want things?” Bucky stares at the base as though he didn’t hear Steve. When Steve places a careful hand on his shoulder, he blinks like someone waking up from a deep sleep. “Bucky,” Steve says, as unease stirs inside him.

Bucky shakes his head and blinks up at Steve with clear eyes. “This is the place. I’ll go get the others.” He grips Steve’s hand in farewell, and disappears.

Steve ignores the cold bite of the wind as he studies the base through one of Tony’s souped-up binoculars. Heavily fortified. Hidden in a remote valley deep in the mountains. No apparent signs of activity despite showing up as a bright yellow spot on the thermal scanners. Even without Bucky’s confirmation, his gut tells him they’ve found the right base.

The air next to him shimmers, and Bucky steps through with his arm around Nat’s waist. He disappears again as Nat walks over.

“Bucky says it’s here?” Nat asks.

Steve hands her the binoculars.

She raises them to her eyes. “It’s here.”

Two more shimmers in quick succession. Tony. Sam. Then Wanda, Thor, Clint, Bruce.

“Let’s go get it back,” Steve says. He looks at each of his teammates one by one, before letting his gaze lock with Bucky’s.

“Remember,” Bucky says, his face cold, “the oathbreaker is mine.”

 

*

 

“What now, Cap,” Tony says. They all stare at six solid inches of reinforced steel standing between them and the branch of the Heart of the Morrigan. “It’ll take me a while to cut through that.”

“Faster if I help,” Wanda says.

Bucky has the vague look in his eyes that means he’s listening to the branch. He doesn’t seem to feel the long cut on his side from where a bullet grazed him. The tear around it glistens with blood. That damned branch better shut up long enough for Bucky to concentrate on fighting his uncle.

It took the four of them an hour to get to the fortified door. They’re all exhausted, battered, and bleeding. Distant sounds of crashes, explosions, gunfire, and the occasional roar mark the progress of Bruce, Thor, and Sam as they rampage through the base. Clint and Nat are off sabotaging things in their quiet way.

“We’ll go through first.” Bucky’s eyes focus on Steve as though he’s finally seeing him.

“Not till we get this door open,” Tony says.

“My way is faster.”

“Sure. Fine. _Teleport._ _”_

“Bucky.” Steve places a careful hand on Bucky’s arm. “We don’t know how many people are in there. We should go in together.”

“We don’t have time.” Bucky’s eyes go unfocused. “He’s about to do something… something that will be very bad for all of us.”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s arm to get his attention. When Bucky’s eyes focus on him, he says, “Okay.” 

“We’ll be right behind you.” Wanda squares her shoulders, seeming to dredge up strength from somewhere. Her hands begin to glow.

Steve barely has time to nod before he’s upended into the void.

 

*

 

Only two people are in the room; Yhendorn, who’s kneeling in front of a large aluminum case, and von Strucker—a blond man of middling height, the sort of person the eye would pass over in a crowd. Neither one of them notice Bucky and Steve, too focused on what the elf is doing. There are no soldiers even though the room could hold at least a hundred of them. All the soldiers must have been sent to defend the base. Poor planning on von Strucker’s part, or arrogance, Steve can’t tell.

Yhendorn is holding a section of a branch that’s about two feet long and three inches in diameter. It’s the color of things unearthed from the bottoms of rotting logs. The cut ends ooze a thick, sticky sap that looks a little too much like old blood. His right hand is covered in it, fat drops dripping down to splatter on the floor. From the way his hand is lifted halfway to his mouth, it looks like… like he’s about to lick it off.

Steve concedes the creepy sentient branch was right.

“Is this what you have come to.” Bucky’s voice drips condescension. “An abomination consuming the blood of the Morrigan? You’re no better than a mindless leech, Uncle.”

Steve struggles to keep his face impassive. What the hell is Bucky up to?

Yhendorn’s head snaps up at the sound of Bucky’s voice. Something like shame flashes across his face before it hardens into a cold mask. Steve can see the family resemblance between the two elves; both with long dark hair, and similar features.

Yhendorn bares his teeth, stretching the raw, jagged wound extending from the outside corner of his eye to his chin. The edges are the unhealthy pinkish-brown of meat left too long on the counter, with a texture almost—almost like wood. He wipes his hand off on the branch and places it back in the case with an odd reverence considering what he was about to do. He picks up the staff by his side and flows to his feet with a grace much like Bucky’s.

A tiny triumphant smile flickers across Bucky’s face. If Steve hadn’t spent hours sketching Bucky, he’d have missed it. Bucky set out to goad his uncle into not ingesting the sap, and he succeeded. Steve could kiss him.

von Strucker glares at the elf in disbelief. “What are you doing?” He points at the branch. “Finish it!”

“You do not tell me what to do, human.”

Moving so fast Steve has no time to react, Yhendorn pulls out a knife and slashes von Strucker across the neck. The movement is casual, almost an afterthought. Yhendorn steps fastidiously out of range of the arterial spray and turns his back on his former ally. von Strucker covers the gaping wound in a futile attempt to staunch the blood-flow, his eyes wide with shock. With a wet, wheezing gurgle, he crumples to the ground. And there went one valuable source of intel, Steve thought.

Yhendorn looks at the knife in his hand with distaste and tosses it aside. He ignores the bleeding body on the floor, just as he ignores Steve. The way he said _human_ tells Steve everything he needs to know about where humans rank in the elf’s worldview.

“So you’ve become one of her attack dogs,” Yhendorn says, as he takes in Bucky’s appearance. His own tunic is made of a heavy scarlet brocade, embroidered in gold thread that shimmers as he moves. His milky-white keystone hangs around his neck on a heavy gold chain. Compared to Bucky, in his unadorned black, Yhendorn looks vain and showy in comparison. Steve can admit there’s probably some personal bias in his opinion.

“I wear her colors with pride, Uncle.” Bucky looks pointedly at the wound on his uncle’s cheek. “While you wear the mark of your sacrilege on your face. The Morrigan was never a forgiving sort.” 

Of _course_ the tree caused the wound. Steve can’t say he’s surprised—the branch talks to Bucky, after all.

Bucky straightens to his full height. “Yhendorn of the House of Ildomien, you are charged with desecrating the Heart of the Morrigan, and breaking the oath you swore when you received your keystone.” He pulls his staff free in one smooth motion and plants it on the ground with a decisive rap. “I have come to serve the Queen’s justice upon you.”

“The _oath,_ _”_ Yhendorn says. “What duty do we owe the humans that we forswear our own advancement.”

“I think you meant _your_ advancement, Uncle.” Bucky is firm and resolute, no sign of his earlier distress at having to face the elf who’d once been his teacher.

 _“Ours,_ Buchanan.” His strange light gray eyes glow with zeal. “The humans with their technology—they may soon surpass us. We must act now before they become too powerful.”

Steve’s hands tighten into fists as he looks between the two elves. Bucky’s face is calm, an unreadable mask.

“Our days of conquest are behind us, Uncle. The Morrigan put down their swords. If the humans become as powerful as you fear, we will treat with them as we did the Asgardians. Peacefully and with respect.”

“Why should we remain bound by the decision of queens thousands of years dead?”

“Because it was the right choice. You would taint the honor of our people if you continue with this plan of yours.”

There’s not one hint of doubt in Bucky’s voice, no sign he’s swayed by the poison of Yhendorn’s reasoning. Steve’s gut told him his faith in Bucky wasn’t misplaced, but it’s always nice to have it confirmed.

Yhendorn takes one step forward, hand raised towards Bucky in appeal. “Buchanan,” he says. His voice is warm and avuncular, and very much at odds with the dead body behind him.

“You swore you would do no harm here, Uncle. It is your duty to honor your oath”—

“Buchanan,” Yhendorn says again, more firmly.

—“and mine to enforce it as a member of the Queen’s Guard. Do you come willingly, oathbreaker?”

Yhendorn’s face turns to stone at Bucky’s words. “And if I do not? Do you think you can best me, _Nephew?_ _”_ A sneer curls his lip. “Our illustrious Queen must be getting old and senile. She has forgotten that I trained you.”

From where he’s standing next to Bucky, Steve can see the way a nerve in his cheek twitches at the insult to his queen.

“I think it is you the years have not been kind to, _Uncle_.” Bucky’s smile is all solicitousness. He can be a singularly irritating person when he wants to be. It’s just one of the things Steve—he doesn’t finish the thought. “You appear to have lost your wits as well as your honor.”

Yhendorn bares his teeth and charges.

Half a minute of watching them fight and Steve is struggling with the need to step in between them. After the hour-long battle to get to Yhendorn, Bucky has little of his light, quick grace left. He’s further hampered by the fact he’s trying to capture his uncle alive. Yhendorn has no such limitation, and it’s killing Steve to stand by and watch Bucky struggle to meet each attack.

Bucky gives up another opportunity for a kill strike and scrambles to dodge a blow to the temple. He’s not quite fast enough, and the tip of Yhendorn’s staff leaves a long red scratch under Bucky’s eye. Every crack of wood against wood makes Steve twitch. The sound of Yhendorn’s staff connecting with Bucky’s left shin makes the bottom fall out of Steve’s stomach. That blow would’ve broken the bone of a normal man. Bucky grits his teeth and doesn’t make a sound.

Fuck interdimensional diplomatic crisis. Steve tightens his grip on the shield and holds himself ready.

The two elves are so focused on each other that they don’t notice the glowing ring of heated metal on the fortified door. With a loud hiss, a section of the door falls inwards and floats silently to the floor in a red nimbus. Before Tony and Wanda can step through the opening, Steve waves them back, not wanting Bucky to get distracted.

 _“Looks like you guys got this,”_ Tony says over the comm. _“We’ll keep party poopers away.”_

 _“Affirmative,”_ Steve says.

Bucky lunges forward in a desperate move, thrusting his staff straight at Yhendorn’s neck. As though to mock Bucky, Yhendorn sidesteps it the barest amount. A feral grin flashes across Bucky’s face. Yhendorn’s eyes widen, but before he can move away, Bucky’s right hand closes on Yhendorn’s keystone. Bucky leaps back, the broken chain flashing gold in the overhead lights. Yhendorn roars with rage, but to Steve’s surprise, doesn’t move to attack.

“By the laws of our people,” Bucky pants, as he holds up the keystone, “you have been defeated. You can never return to Oileáin Thuaidh, to where the leaves fall not. Not unless you submit to the Queen’s justice.”

“Submit?” Yhendorn’s lip curls. The partially-healed wound on his cheek splits open to reveal flesh a sickly off-white color. “Who is she to demand my submission?”

“Your Queen, Uncle.”

“She is unfit to rule,” Yhendorn snarls. “A weak pacifist who hides behind useless ideals while our people are overtaken by other races.”

Bucky tsks. “The lies we tell ourselves to cosset our egos,” he says. “No, Uncle. If she were that weak, you would have had better luck swaying her. Instead, she sees you for what you are—a closed-minded fool bloated with arrogance.”

Steve hadn’t known elves could turn quite that shade of red. Yhendorn gives an incoherent cry and charges Bucky. That’s twice now he’s been goaded into an attack. Bucky really does have a gift for it.

Bucky steps out of the way at the last moment and backhands his uncle in the face. The metal vambrace connects with a wet, crunch that makes Steve wince. Yhendorn crumples, staff clattering to the floor as it slips out of nerveless fingers. Steve takes a breath and lets himself relax.

Bucky leans heavily on his staff and stares at the unconscious form on the floor. His expression is a mix of regret, and grim resolve. “He taught me to use the staff.” Bucky’s shoulders slump. He gives Steve a tired smile when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I was only ten. He was patient with me even though I was…Well. I was not the most well-behaved of students.”

Steve struggles for something to say. Bad people are still capable of small acts of kindness. Sometimes good people go astray. A half-dozen other meaningless platitudes that won’t help. In the end he settles for, “I’m sorry.”

A soft sigh escapes Bucky. He straightens up, once again the professional soldier. “Come help me. We don’t have much time before he wakes.”

“I can always knock him out again,” Steve offers, maybe a little too eagerly.

Bucky gives an amused snort as he limps over the aluminum case, sidestepping von Strucker’s body. Inside the case lie three sections of a single branch. It must have been cut so it would fit in the case. Two of the sections are about the same length, but the third, the one closest to the tip of the branch, is about half the length of the other two. They lie in a pool of dark red sap.

With Steve’s help, Bucky crouches down. Steve stays next to him, but he gets the feeling he shouldn’t touch anything. Bucky closes the case carefully, making sure he doesn’t get any sap on his hands. He snaps the locking latches shut and waves an imperious hand at Steve, which Steve takes to mean he should help Bucky up. Together, they make their way back to the unconscious elf.

Bucky sets the case down next to Yhendorn. “I’ll bring him back now.”

“I’ll miss you,” Steve says. He reaches out and gently wipes away the blood on Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, his own still curved in a smile. “I’ll see you soon, Captain.” He steps back, seeming as reluctant to leave as Steve is to let him go. Case in hand, Bucky places his foot on Yhendorn’s chest, grips his keystone, and disappears.

Steve takes a deep breath and tries not to give in to the fear that he won’t see Bucky again. He’s got a fight to get back to. “Bucky’s gone,” he says into his comm. “He took the branch and his uncle with him. Does anyone need backup?”

 _“Cap,”_ Sam says. _“You okay?”_

“Yeah.” He bites back a smile. “He’s coming back.”

Whoops and congratulations sound over the comm.

“I hear keeping busy’s the best way to pass the time,” Clint says. “We got a bunch of those crazy strong soldiers barricaded in a room on the west corner of the base. I was gonna take ‘em out, but you can have ‘em.”

“Thanks, Clint.” He straightens his shoulders and walks out of the room. “I really appreciate that.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello again, Captain.” Bucky appears in the doorway of the dining room. He looks resplendent in a deep green tunic, his long hair unbound and gleaming in the afternoon light streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only visible evidence of the fight with his uncle is the still-healing cut under his eye.

Steve drops his fork with a clatter and is out of his chair so fast it tips back and hits the ground with a crash. He pulls Bucky into a careful hug and buries his face in Bucky’s hair, not caring that all the other Avengers are watching. He’s almost giddy with relief when the familiar flowery scent wraps around him, finally banishing the fear that had plagued him ever since Bucky left.

“I’ve only been gone a day, Steve.” Bucky sounds a little surprised as he returns Steve’s hug.

“I was just… worried. Sometimes things don’t turn out the way they’re supposed to. Look at me,” he says with a weak smile. “One time, I went out on a mission and didn’t come back till seventy years later.”

Bucky searches Steve’s eyes. His gaze flicks to the table full of Avengers behind Steve. “We will discuss this further, Steve.”

“We will.” And the strange thing is that Steve really means it.

A loud throat clearing has them looking towards the table. “Join us, elf boy.” Tony waves at the laden dining table. “Or our illustrious Captain won’t be meeting his daily caloric intake for the day.”

“I’m afraid I’ve come to steal your illustrious Captain away.” Bucky pulls out a thick, cream-colored envelope and hands it to Steve. “My mother would like to meet you.”

Steve’s almost disappointed it’s not a scroll. He opens the envelope and pulls out a single sheet of paper. It’s about the same weight as card stock, but with a toothiness he can’t resist rubbing his fingers over. 

There’s only one sentence on the card. It’s written in a forceful hand, with strong slashes and bold lines:

_The Queen of Oile_ _áin Thuaidh invites Captain Steven Grant Rogers to attend a banquet on the 6th day of June 2018 AD_

“Bucky,” Steve says a little breathlessly. “This invitation is from the _Queen._ ”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Did I forget to mention? I’m a prince.”

“You’re a—” He closes his mouth and looks around the room in bewilderment. He’s glad he’s not the only one feeling a pole-axed by the information—everyone is gaping at Bucky. Everyone, that is, except for Thor. _He_ looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

 _“Yes_ , Bucky,” Steve says. “You did in fact forget to mention that.” He quirks an eyebrow at Thor. “And so did the other prince in the room.”

“He was here as an emissary, Steve.” Thor’s grin is unrepentant. He nods to Bucky. “Your Highness.”

Bucky nods back. “Your Highness.”

“Very funny,” Steve says. He slides the card back into the envelope while maintaining eye contact with Bucky. Bucky gives him a rueful smile, ducking his head to look at Steve from under his lashes. “Stop that,” Steve says. He knows exactly what Bucky’s doing but he can feel himself weakening anyway.

Bucky winks at him before turning the rueful smile on everyone in the room. “There is a reason why I didn’t say anything,” he says. “Unless my title has direct relevance to a mission’s objectives, my mother prefers that I remain incognito. She worries for my safety.”

“You know,” Tony says, “I was just working up a nice big chunk of perfectly understandable indignation, but you had to go and have a good reason for it.”

“Terrible, really,” Pepper says, slanting an amused look at Tony. “Welcome back, Bucky. Or should that be _Your Highness_.” There’s a gentle note of teasing in Pepper’s voice that has Steve smirking when he notices the consternation on Bucky’s face.

“ _Please_ call me Bucky.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Nat says.

“But Your Highness, I would never be so rude,” Wanda says. “Your Highness.” She dips her head respectfully.

“You asked for it, Your Highness,” Sam says, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I guess you’re never living this one down, Your Highness,” Steve says.

“You are all terrible people,” Bucky says. Then he chuckles, and Steve can’t help but smile back. Bucky holds his hand out to Steve. “Shall we?”

“What, now?” Steve blinks. “But… I need to pack—”

“Everything has been prepared for you.”

Steve looks around the room. All he sees are encouraging faces.

“We got this,” Tony says.

“When was the last time you took a holiday?” Nat says, her lips quirked up in an encouraging smile.

Steve opens his mouth to answer.

Sam throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Don’t say 1945, Steve.”

“Well, in that case…” He clasps Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s brilliant smile is the only thing Steve can see. The room fades away around him as his friends shout their farewells.

*

Steve collapses backwards onto his bed with a tired sigh. His brain feels emptied out, like a picked-over carcass left too long in the sun.

Dinner with Bucky’s mother, _the Queen of Oile_ _áin Thuaidh,_ had not exactly been a relaxing affair. Instead of something informal with Bucky’s family, he’d been subjected to a dinner with the royal family and the Queen’s advisers. He didn’t even have the benefit of Bucky’s company to help him get through it. Bucky had been seated all the way on the other end of the table.

At a light tap on the door, energy floods his exhausted limbs and he leaps off the bed. He yanks open the door to reveal someone who is very much _not_ Bucky. Not unless Bucky’s shrunk about a foot as well as switched gender.

The steward who’d escorted him to the banquet hall blinks at him. “Captain Rogers,” she says, after the initial moment of surprise. “The prince bids you join him at the lake on the north side of the palace.” She gives him directions and politely takes her leave.

Steve heads out straight away, impatient to see Bucky. After five minutes of walking, he spots the glimmer of moonlit water in the distance. The summer night is warm and balmy, and he’s starting to sweat under the light silk of his tunic and trousers. The path leads him through a graceful landscape planted with groves of trees and colorful wild flowers. It’s lush and full of life, very different from the secluded corner of the grounds where the Heart of the Morrigan grows.

Bucky brought him to visit the tree when they arrived in Oileáin Thuaidh. It dominated the landscape. It was nearly twenty feet in diameter at the base, with a dense, spreading canopy of dark green, needle-like leaves that cut out most of the sunlight. Its bark was gnarled and grooved like solidified rivulets of wax. And it was so _old._ Steve could feel its years like a tangible weight pressing him into the earth.

They stopped just beyond the thick, dark shadows under the canopy. Steve could hear, at the outside edge of perception, a muttering, whispering rustle. A thread of darkness ran through that sound. Anger. The clamor of weapons. Something brushed against his mind, alien, ponderous. He shuddered at the sensation, then it was gone. It was a relief when Bucky touched his arm and said they could go. 

The memory of that visit sends a chill through him. The damp silk sticking to his skin suddenly feels cold and clammy in the night air. His feet hurry round a bend in the path that takes him out of the grove. All thoughts of the uncanny tree scatter at the view before him.

When the steward said Bucky was waiting for him at the lake, he hadn’t expected Bucky to actually be _in_ the lake. His back is to Steve, long hair piled up on top of his head in a messy bun, revealing the graceful line of his neck and spine. Droplets of water on his skin catch the light of the lanterns strung up around the shore. The water laps at the dip of his back, stirred by the breeze. Bucky knows exactly how tempting he looks. Steve would stake his life on it.

The water feels cool against his heated skin when he wades into the lake. Pebbles crunch underfoot. Bucky turns around and laughs at the sight of Steve sloshing determinedly through the crystal-clear water, the fabric of his blue tunic trailing behind him. Hopefully the clothes don’t need dry-cleaning, or whatever elvish equivalent of it they have here. His ankle boots might be a lost cause. He should have planned things a little better, but he’d seen Bucky and just thought: _Want._

Bucky goes easily when Steve pulls him into a deep, long kiss. “So impatient,” Bucky says, a little breathlessly, when the kiss ends.

“It’s been a hell of a night, Buck.” Steve frees Bucky’s hair from its bun while Bucky watches him with an indulgent smile. “I dream about this hair.” He combs his fingers through it till it falls around Bucky’s face in shimmering waves.

“Just the hair?”

“Sometimes it’s even attached to your head.”

Steve gasps and flinches away when Bucky pinches his side. “I’m flattered,” Bucky says dryly.

Steve pulls Bucky close, slides his hands down the curve of Bucky’s back, and buries his face in the long silky mass. He exhales all his exhaustion as the warmth of Bucky’s body seeps into his. A night bird calls out from somewhere in the trees surrounding the lake, a low, soft note. “That dinner,” he says on a sigh. Bucky makes an amused sound and lets Steve rest his weight on him. “Was there any reason why you were seated so far away, Buck?”

“Well…”

On hearing the shifty tone in Bucky’s voice, Steve leans back. “Bucky?”

“It might have something to do with you being the first person I’ve ever wanted to introduce to the family? They wanted a chance to meet you without me there to protect you.”

“Really?” A surge of happiness floods him. “I’m the first?”

“Yes, _really._ _”_

“So you threw me to the wolves, is what you’re saying. Alone. Defenseless.”

“Exactly.” Bucky grins at him. “And you more than held your own. They put you next to the most irritating elf on the Council to test your mettle. I’m sorry about that, by the way.” Bucky kisses Steve on the cheek. “I was overridden.”

“The other person next to me, Lady Melian, she was there to report on me, wasn’t she.” She spoke only rarely during the dinner, but seemed to notice everything. Including every time he clenched his jaw at the overly personal questions from Lord Anfeald. _For Bucky,_ he reminded himself, every time he swallowed back another sarcastic reply. The last thing he wanted was to be refused entry into Oileáin Thuaidh because he’d been rude to a member of the Queen’s Council.

“Melian was very impressed by your forbearance. She thinks you’ll be a good influence on me, since I usually end up insulting Anfeald after five minutes.” Bucky tilts his head to the side as though considering something. “I think Mother was quite taken by that idea.”

“Your mother.” Steve drops his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t think she likes me.” Queen Winifred had far more in common with a warrior queen like the Morrigan than the graceful beatitude of Galadriel. She’d watched him all through dinner with eyes disconcertingly like Bucky’s. But where Bucky’s eyes are a soft heather gray, his mother’s are like slate—cool and opaque, giving nothing of her thoughts away.

“Nonsense.” Bucky wraps dripping wet arms around his neck. “She likes you. She talked to you during dinner, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know if ‘talked’ is the right word. ‘Grilled’ maybe. ‘Interrogated’.

“You should see what she does to the people she _doesn_ _’t_ like.” Bucky rubs a soothing hand down Steve’s spine. “My father definitely likes you.”

“I like him, too. He’s a wonderful person.” Bucky’s father had asked Steve to call him by the very prosaic name of ‘George’ and was very keen to find out how Earth had changed since his last visit. He reminded Steve of Erskine, the same warmth and humor and gentle kindness. Talking to George had been a nice way to tune out the feeling that his worth was being assessed, and found rather wanting. “I bet if I ask nicely, he’d tell me embarrassing stories about you.”

Bucky pokes his side. “I have never done a single embarrassing thing in my life. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You are such a liar.”

Bucky nips him on the collarbone in retaliation. “Becca will have the best ones, actually. But since they’re as embarrassing for her as they are for me, she’ll never breathe a word. She’ll be queen after my mother—she has a reputation to protect. I have it much easier, being the spare.”

“You’re second in line to the throne.” In the whirlwind of his day since Bucky had shown up in Avengers Tower, the significance of Bucky’s royal blood hadn’t really sunk in. “I’m… just a human from another planet. You shouldn’t—”

“Steve.” Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and gives him a little shake. “Don’t worry, my mother likes you.”

“But how do you _know?_ _”_

“First of all, you’re in the room next to mine. Second,” he says, “you’re speaking to the new permanent envoy to Earth.”

 _“Bucky.”_ He searches Bucky’s eyes, almost afraid to believe Bucky might be telling the truth. He’d have been happy with getting to see Bucky every now and then. On Oileáin Thuaidh or on Earth, it didn’t matter. But a permanent envoy _…_ it has such a nice ring of, well, permanence _._

“Mother decided after the banquet.” Bucky watches Steve carefully. “We know from my uncle that Hydra still has several platoons of enhanced soldiers.”

“Alright,” Steve says.

“My primary mission is to set right the evil my uncle created. If the Avengers will have me, my skills are at your disposal.”

“Do you even need to ask,” Steve says. Bucky’s one of the best fighters he’s ever seen, and has already shown he can work well with the team. “Of course we’ll have you.” Finding out there are still more enhanced soldiers is an unpleasant jolt, but the Avengers will find them all and contain the threat. At least Hydra can’t make anymore of them.

Bucky smiles and relaxes in Steve’s arms. “I told you she likes you.”

“What if she’d hated me?”

“Then I suppose I’d be doing a lot of interdimensional sneaking about.” At the look on Steve’s face, Bucky laughs and his gaze softens, gray eyes glowing. “I’m joking, Steve. My mother wants all her children to be happy. To serve the realm, but also to be happy. This way, I get to do both.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and holds on tight. He gets to be with Bucky, he thinks. He gets to be with Bucky. The words loop in his head as a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying lifts.

“What are you thinking?” Bucky whispers.

Steve lifts his head to find Bucky watching him. He rubs at the worried crease in Bucky’s brow with his thumb. “I’m thinking,” he says. Water eddies around his legs when he shifts his weight. “I’m thinking we should get out of here before we wrinkle up.”

Bucky looks down. “Too late,” he murmurs. “Already wrinkled.” He quirks an eyebrow, expression saying _I know that_ _’s not what you meant to say._

Growing up small and sickly in a world that valued size and strength had taught Steve to protect the soft parts of his heart. Waking up to find himself subsumed by the persona of Captain America had made his walls even higher. Now, he feels trapped by a lifetime of hiding parts of himself away.

Bucky watches him with eyes that see too much. He takes Steve’s hand. “Come on.” He leads Steve out of the lake and over to a bench.

Water streams off Steve as he squelches along behind Bucky in sodden boots. He struggles out of his soaked tunic and drops it on the bench. Bucky hands him a towel, unselfconscious about his nakedness, before taking one for himself. Bucky had come prepared.

At a pointed throat clearing from Bucky, he makes another attempt at explaining himself. It helps that Bucky seems occupied with drying himself. 

“After I came out of the ice,” he says, “nothing about the world felt right.” He was a stranger wherever he went, alone, left behind by everyone he held dear, left behind by his world. “I didn’t belong in the future I woke up in. But there was no way to go back to my own time, to go home.” He twists the towel in his hands. “So I tried to make a new home for myself. Joining the Avengers helped. I had a purpose, a new team. Made new friends.”

Steve pulls off his boots and pours out the water inside them. “But sometimes, I still felt… lost. Adrift. Like the past had a stronger hold on me than the present.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as Bucky tugs on a robe that glows a rich lustrous red. His heart pounds with fear or exhilaration, or perhaps both. “Until you,” he says. It doesn’t matter that he’s standing under the stars of a different world, wherever Bucky is, is home.

Bucky’s hands pause in the middle of tying the sash around his waist, eyes soft with wonder. _“Steve.”_

Steve shrugs and gives Bucky a sheepish smile. He feels lighter, almost giddy. Possibilities unfold in front of him as he imagines his life with Bucky in it.

Bucky ties off his robe with a sharp yank, grabs a towel, and wraps it around Steve’s waist. Steve blinks at this response to what he thought was a quite unambiguous declaration of his feelings. “No need to shock everyone with your assets,” Bucky says. “Those pants don’t hide a thing when they’re wet.” That done, he tows Steve behind him at a ground-eating pace.

“Where are we going?”

“My rooms,” Bucky says over his shoulder. His hair sways enticingly, a dark curtain against the red of his robe. “You can’t tell me something like that and not expect a reaction, Captain.”

Steve laughs and follows happily wherever Bucky leads.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find us on tumblr :) [starshieldfolder](http://starshieldfolder.tumblr.com) and [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


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